


Holloween: 31-Day Prompt Challenge

by RangerLauren



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Also like 95 percent of this isn’t canon, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, And nothing can stop them, Don’t @ me mossbag, Everyone is a cinnamon roll, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Fuck the Pantheons, Gen, Ghost isn’t hollow, Graphic content warnings in some chapters, Grimm and Radiance are siblings headcanon, Grimmchild is literally just a hyperactive pet, Help I can’t write romantic fluff kskvkdjvc, Hollow will absolutely fite for their siblings, Hornet’s gonna be loved and cherished and she’s gonna like it, It’s time for Suffering bois, I’m sorry Myla, Let Tiso say fuck 2020, Let’s see how long I last, Listen they’re gonna be happy fuck canon, M/M, Myla has a Bad Time, Nailmaster Mato more like Dadmaster Mato amirite folks, No one is spared from angst, Sheo and Nailsmith are proud gay dads and we stan, Snail Shaman literally just smacks people all day, Some Silksong stuff even though it’s not out yet lol, The Knight is Called Ghost (Hollow Knight), They’re just a little shit, Well almost everyone, Wholesome bug friends, sibling shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 43,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26766568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RangerLauren/pseuds/RangerLauren
Summary: A collection of short one-shots based on the Holloween prompts taken from the Hollow Knight Discord server.A.K.A let’s write til we drop boisLatest chapter: Rebirth
Relationships: Cornifer/Iselda (Hollow Knight), Nailsmith/Nailmaster Sheo (Hollow Knight), The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & Hornet & The Knight
Comments: 302
Kudos: 250





	1. Day 1: Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god here we gooooo
> 
> Welcome to this,,t h in g that I’m doing
> 
> Why am I doing this? Idk bro I’m in college I don’t have time for this, but I’m hoping this’ll get rid of Writer’s Block for a while lol
> 
> Plus I love Hollow Knight so much and I’ve been wanting to write stuff for it
> 
> These one-shots are all based on the Holloween prompt challenge from the official HK Discord: https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/187137504393035776/760745123889283072/Holloween_2020.png
> 
> (Yes ik they’re supposed to be for art but I can’t draw for shit lmao)
> 
> Doing one every day is NOT guaranteed because I’m really bad at being consistent with prompt challenges T-T But I’m definitely gonna try and get as many done as possible!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyyyyy

The Ghost of Hallownest skittered along the tiles of the roof, desperate to get out of sight. Their mantis claw easily sank into the material, allowing them to swiftly avoid the curses and insults being hurled their way. An easy escape, although not an undetected one.

As they scrambled behind the chimney for cover, the grating yammering of their pursuer could be heard clear as day. His voice was raspy, irritating, and currently the bane of Ghost’s existence as its owner circled the house, grumbling to himself. Of course, the threats he was making were less than meaningless, but they still didn’t want to get busted with such a valuable prize on them.

Eventually, the pursuer gave up, stumbling his way back towards the center of Dirtmouth, presumably to go rant to some innocent bystander. Ghost sighed in relief, clutching the sack they had obtained tight against their chest. It would have been so easy to slip away undetected, but they had been detoured by Cornifer and Iselda as they passed by on their way to the well, and then Quirrel had wanted to talk to them…and then Myla had wanted to say hello...and then Cloth had wanted to spar with them...and then Elderbug had looked so lonely all by himself that they just _had_ to keep him company for a while…

Hornet was right about them being easily distracted, they thought to themselves in a rare moment of self-reflection.

But no matter, Ghost had what they wanted. Stashing the bag away in their cloak, they shimmied their way along the edge of the roof, until their destination was directly below them. Their sibling’s bedroom was always the perfect place to hide whenever they got into trouble.

It looked like the window was closed…

Oh well.

Swinging downwards, Ghost crashed through the glass, landing neatly on the ragged carpet. Hollow leapt off of their bed and almost reached for their nail on instinct, then recognized the intruder with a silent sigh of relief. They greeted their sibling with a wave and crossed the room in three long strides to look them over, avoiding the new glass shards scattered everywhere.

Ghost opened their arms wide, showing off their lack of injuries, then unearthed their prize from the folds of their cloak. Hollow straightened in surprise at the bag of tiny colorful orbs, each one wrapped in thin paper and stamped with an unfamiliar logo. Brimming with excitement, Ghost opened the bag and held it up to Hollow as high as their tiny arms would allow. 

Hollow accepted the offer, pulling out a sweet and inspecting it. They tilted their head in Ghost’s direction, wanting to know where they had gotten such a large amount from. Despite the Infection having been gone for some time now, confections like these were still a rarity nowadays.

Ghost waved a hand dismissively before taking a candy of their own. Hollow didn’t need to know the details, they just had to enjoy it.

There was a knock on the door, startling them both into dropping their candies. Ghost hadn’t even heard footsteps coming up the stairs. They realized with a jolt of panic that, although their entrance into the bedroom had been pretty amazing, they should not have made so much noise.

The door creaked slightly on its hinges as it opened. “Ghost, I thought we discussed using the _door_ instead of-“

Hornet stopped in her tracks, sensing trouble before even knowing what it was. Her eyes flitted between Ghost and Hollow, back and forth, and then landed on the sack in Ghost’s hand.

“...What is that?” she asked, narrowing her eyes in immediate suspicion.

Hollow drew back, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. Meanwhile, Ghost quickly hid the bag behind their back, trying to look as innocent as possible. They had practiced such a vulnerable, pleading look in the mirror for ages, but unfortunately their sister was still immune to it.

Hornet sighed. “Ghost, I specifically remember telling you _not_ to steal from anyone in town.”

Ghost tapped their chin. Did she? They couldn’t remember that, not at all.

“Alright.” Hornet rubbed the bridge of her mask. She sounded...exasperated, maybe, but not mad. “We are going to take whatever you stole back to its rightful owner, and you are going to apologize for it.”

Ghost crossed their arms in an attempt to look defiant, but deep down they knew there was no getting out of it. Beside them, Hollow flashed them a look of sympathy.

“Who did you steal from, if I may ask?” Hornet continued.

In response, Ghost unsheathed their nail and swung it around clumsily, then stamped their feet in an exaggerated attempt at looking angry.

“...Zote?” Hornet guessed.

Ghost nodded.

Hornet lowered her hand, and actually seemed to hesitate for a moment, pondering her next words with a furrowed brow. When her eyes met theirs again, her expression had noticeably softened into something more akin to amusement.

“In that case, then…” she said finally. “I suppose, instead of facing such a tedious situation, we could blame it on an unfortunate stroke of bad luck and leave it at that.”

Hollow stared, dumbfounded.

“Yes, let’s do that,” Hornet agreed to herself. She took a step back. “My mistake, then. Carry on.”

Ghost felt as though they were about to explode with excitement. They bounced up to Hornet and upended the bag with a flourish, sending brightly-colored candies spilling all over the carpet. Hollow lowered themselves to the floor and gladly helped themselves to a couple.

“If by chance he reappears,” Hornet remarked, kneeling to swipe a red candy from the pile. “I say we accuse a vengefly whose fangs coincidentally looked like your horns, little Ghost.”

Ghost agreed wholeheartedly.


	2. Day 2: Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quirrel is accompanied on his trip to the Teacher’s Archives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaa this got a little angstier than I originally planned it sooo hAVE WHOLESOME BUG FRIENDS BEING CUTE TO BALANCE IT OUT AAAAAAAAAA

The uomas were no longer orange, Quirrel noticed.

It wasn’t much of a surprise, with the Infection gone and all, and yet it was still so jarring, seeing the pale cores of the jellies floating aimlessly instead of the angry orange they had been prior. There were a lot less of the uomas now, but the sight still triggered an onslaught of memories he didn’t know he had. They were mundane for the most part, mainly memories of making the trip to the Archives and back, of nights spent hunched over a slate of notes with his legs dangling over a cliffside, of Monomon’s presence at his side as the two of them-

He stopped, hand on the hilt of his nail, and gave a shuddering sigh.

“Quirrel?”

A tiny bug slid in front of him, hands pressed together anxiously. Her voice was small and meek, barely heard over the muffled sounds of the uomas floating by, but carried heavy waves of concern all the same.

“Are you alright? Y-you’ve been standing there f-for a while.” Myla’s gaze passively searched his; he wondered what she could see in it.

Quirrel’s surroundings trickled back to him. Over Myla’s shoulder, Bretta stood nearby, her antennae twitching nervously as she tried to maintain a balance between keeping eye contact and looking away. Farther back, Cloth leaned on her massive club, watching the uomas closely.

Quirrel shook himself off. “Yes, yes, I’m alright. I lost myself for a brief moment, is all.”

Myla nodded in understanding. She reached over and gently patted the hand that was still on his nail, giving him a smile.

“We can...still go back, if you want,” Bretta offered quietly, then averted her eyes.

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary,” Quirrel declined without hesitation. “Such a thing plagues me every time I’m here. I will be fine shortly.”

He didn’t know why he was so desperate to revisit Fog Canyon and the Archives again. It was never a wise thing to continuously wallow in the past, especially not one that had been so violently ripped out of reach and thrown away. And yet, Quirrel still found himself returning frequently, whether it be to regain droplets of the memories he had lost, to grieve, or to fulfill some other purpose he hadn’t discovered yet. (He hoped it was not the last option; he’d had enough prophecies to last well beyond his lifetime.)

Myla had asked to join him this time, and to bring a couple of her friends along. Apparently the trio had been growing restless and many areas of Hallownest were still too dangerous for them to explore, but Quirrel’s well-traversed route to the Archives was bound to be safe enough. Quirrel had been happy to have company; it reminded him of when Ghost would join him on his journey sometimes, a silent but reassuring presence that was needed in the apocalyptic kingdom. But the Infection was gone now, and he could enjoy being surrounded by friends without having to worry about safety.

Thankfully, Quirrel bounced back rather quickly, and Cloth clapped a hand on his shoulder in reassurance as he passed by. He led them further into the canyon, past bubbles and shrubbery and more clusters of uomas. The descent was practically an instinct to him now, but he slowed down in respect for the rest of the group, who were less experienced and stopped every now and then to admire the scenery.

“What _are_ th-these things?” Myla wondered, eyes wide in awe as one of the tiny jellies floated past her.

“Uomas, my friend. They’ve taken up residence here for some time now.” Quirrel sensed Cloth’s question before she could voice it. “They’re harmless, as long as you don’t touch them. They have a static charge.”

“They’re cute,” Bretta mused, leaning in to observe one further. The uoma drifted closer, and she jumped back with a yelp as it bumped her mandibles and gave her a quick zap. Her slightly-embarrassed laughter joined Myla’s quiet giggles and Cloth’s low, booming chuckling.

They descended further, taking great care to avoid the pools of acid lining the floor of Fog Canyon. The looming forms of oomas started to dot the landscape, their dangling tentacles brushing the cliff sides. Though their cores no longer fizzled with Infection, Quirrel knew they were still rather dangerous.

“Careful with these ones,” he mentioned, pointing to one of the taller jellies. “These are oomas, and they explode upon death.” 

Cloth had her club at the ready, though thankfully she lowered it upon hearing this new information. She shied away as one floated lazily in her direction. “‘Explode’?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Quirrel faintly remembered watching Ghost traverse Fog Canyon once, and the little vessel had nearly blown their mask clean off their body upon killing one of the oomas, not knowing what it did at the time. He shuddered. “Their membranes are rather easy to breach, so be cautious.”

After maneuvering their way past the oomas, the atmosphere of the group relaxed significantly. Myla started to sing to pass the time as they walked, an upbeat song about rain and blue moons. Cloth and Bretta seemed to know the lyrics as well and gladly joined in. Sometimes one of them would get a verse wrong and they’d laugh about it goodnaturedly. To Quirrel, the trek to the Archives was bittersweet at best, but the high-spirited energy they brought was infectious, and by the time the chorus repeated for the third time, he was humming along with them.

Things got a little scary as they got closer to the Archives. They passed under an ancient roofed structure, weaving their way past uomas and oomas alike. Quirrel had never liked this structure; the support beams holding up the roof had always looked too brittle and worn for his liking. Unfortunately, his observations were proven correct, as their footsteps jostled one of the looser stones in the ceiling. It tumbled down and landed on one of the oomas across the cavern, tearing through its membrane with a swift pop.

Quirrel heard the hissing and whipped around, drawing his nail. The pale ooma core hovered in midair for a brief moment, spitting, then rocketed towards them, earning dual screams from Myla and Bretta. 

Quirrel scrambled his way to the front, but Cloth was faster. Bellowing a battle cry, she grabbed her club and hurled it at the incoming ooma core without a second thought.

The explosion rocked the earth, sending all but Cloth reeling from the sheer force. Quirrel could feel the heat on his mask, and Myla flinched away from the blinding light the impact caused, but they were all unharmed. Cloth’s club thudded to the ground, remarkably unscathed, but there was no trace of any leftover ooma.

Cloth was rather humble about the ordeal, chuckling sheepishly as Bretta spilled her gratitudes and Myla hugged her as tightly as she could manage. Quirrel praised the cicada’s quick instincts, knowing how fast those ooma cores could travel. The journey would have ended very differently if Cloth had reacted even a second later.

Shortly after, the Archives loomed into view. True to its name, the canyon was starting to become rather foggy as the evening drew closer, so the scene was not as magnificent as it could have been, but it was moving to Quirrel all the same. All of a sudden thoughts and feelings started flooding back all at once, and he had to look away to avoid the headache.

He felt Myla pat his hand again, and allowed the feather-light touch to ground him. “This is the Archives, my friends, where I spent many of my younger years.”

“It’s big,” Bretta observed.

“What’s in it?” Cloth asked, slightly leaning over the ledge they were standing on to get a better look.

“Information, mostly. Compendiums of the organisms of Hallownest, historical documents, studies of ve-“ He swallowed thickly. “...other things. Come, I shall give you all a brief tour of what I remember.”

The bronze walls of the building, although filthy from age, were as familiar to Quirrel as they had been the last time he was there. Leaves drifted from holes in the ceiling, past dozens and dozens of green-tinted tubes that stretched forever. Some of the screens were still open, abandoned by either Quirrel himself, Ghost, or a staff member from all those years ago.

He led them through all of the halls that he remembered. Down one hallway was where he did most of his research, and another room was where his sleeping quarters were, and one wing of the building was where Monomon resided (although he still couldn’t find it within himself to set foot in there). The genuine awe his three companions shared stirred a feeling of excitement in his chest. It had been a long, long time since anyone other than Ghost had listened to his ramblings.

The room in the very center was still empty. Quirrel told them briefly about Uumuu, the guardian of the Archives, and his fight against it alongside Ghost. Cloth seemed rather disappointed that it was no longer there for her to challenge.

Quirrel directed them to a few of the screens next. One of them was stationed next to a cage of lumaflies, and Cloth and Myla took it upon themselves to try and read the text scrawled on the screen. They stumbled through the ancient scripture with the most ridiculous accents they could muster, making Quirrel laugh until he wheezed.

The fog started to roll into the building, and the group decided to set up camp for the night. Cloth set up the tents on the Archives floor while Quirrel and Bretta searched for kindling along the walls. Once a substantial fire was built, Myla cooked up the rations they had brought and passed them out.

“Does anyone have any good campfire stories to tell?” Quirrel asked.

“Ooh!” Myla’s hand shot up immediately, eyes shining. “I have one!”

They went around in a circle, telling stories. Myla’s was a whimsical little tale about catching Ghost’s Grimmchild chewing on her flowers and chasing them around Dirtmouth, begging them to let go of her favorite ones. Cloth’s, on the other hand, was a legend from her childhood village about a battle-worn orphan leading a siege upon a kingdom, and judging by the sparkle in her eye, it meant a lot to her.

When it was Bretta’s turn, Quirrel was surprised to see her not only come out of her shell, but to take on a completely different demeanor. The story she told was not the fluffy romantic-comedy he had expected, but a cryptid story about a centipede that swallowed an entire town overnight. As she drew closer to the end, the fog seemed to darken around them, and suddenly the fire looked much less bright.

“The world around her was still and silent. Little Nova almost dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, she would be spared from such a cruel end.” The fire shadowed the details of Bretta’s face, making her look outright malicious. “And then…”

She paused for effect. Quirrel found himself holding his breath, his leg bouncing up and down. Adjacent to him, Cloth shifted uncomfortably, looking a little disturbed.

“SNAP!”

Myla screamed, and even Quirrel flinched back as Bretta suddenly lunged into her personal space, pincers poised to strike. The tiny bug cowered underneath Cloth’s arm and wailed out a frightened “B-Bretta!”

As if a switch had been flipped, Bretta hunched back over and rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry, Myla! I guess I got a little carried away.”

Myla remained next to Cloth, still appearing spooked, but laughed a little all the same. “I-it’s alright. All in g-good fun!” 

Cloth absentmindedly patted the smaller bug’s head. “Quirrel, it’s your turn.”

Quirrel pondered for a moment, a hand on his chin. He didn’t know many campfire stories the whole way through thanks to his amnesia, and improvising was off the table. He supposed he could pass his turn to someone else, but…

His gaze drifted off to the left and landed on one of the open screens. Monomon’s signature glared at him beneath walls of text and diagrams of globular shapes. He remembered that study, he realized, it was one of the last ones he had taken part in before the Sealing. Before…

“Madam Monomon designed the uomas,” he remarked distantly. More words spilled out of his mouth, and he didn’t have the willpower to stop them. “She incubated them for weeks on end. They were so fragile, she refused to allow anyone besides me into her laboratory to observe them.”

The other three bugs fell silent, watching him with rapt attention.

“She wanted to protect the Archives in case...something went wrong.” Quirrel’s hands shook as he pressed his palms together. “The oomas were designed to self destruct. Uomas were originally planned to act as soldiers, but Madam Monomon couldn’t find the opportunity to improve upon them before…”

His eyes stung. “Before...everything,” he finished awkwardly.

The others were silent, unsure of what to say. Quirrel noticed the tension and furiously wiped at his eyes, attempting to compose himself. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to ramble. I suppose it’s time we-“

Something soft was pressed into his hand. Bretta had approached him and was passing him a small scrap of white cloth: a handkerchief. “Thank you,” he mumbled, clutching it with both hands. He wasn’t emotional enough to cry yet, but it was nice to have it anyway.

Myla scooted closer to him, sympathetically searching his gaze again. There was no judgement there; she never judged. “Thank you f-for sharing. I-I...I never knew her, but she-she sounds like a wonderful bug.”

‘Wonderful’ couldn’t even begin to describe her, Quirrel thought with an empty laugh. “She was.” His smile faded, grief tearing right through his carapace in a familiar way. “It’s been quite a long time, but I do miss her still, admittedly. I miss...a lot about the life I lived before.”

Cloth’s large hand rested on his back. “The plague took a lot from you. It’s alright to miss those things.”

“I s-still feel sad about m-my past life s-sometimes,” Myla chimed in. For a brief moment, the weight of the world rested on her tiny shoulders, but it passed as quickly as it came. “B-but it’s okay to be! I think it’s better to remember and b-be sad about it th-than to forget.”

Quirrel fiddled with the handkerchief. Regaining memories was always a painful process, physically and emotionally. But, once that agony passed, it was nice in a way, to have bittersweet nostalgia to mull over instead of the fog that clouded him for so long. It was nice to think about her, back when there was nothing to worry about outside of the Archives. She had been so passionate back then, so eager to share her research. And he had nothing better to do than to listen. No Infection, no Seals, no burden on his shoulders. Just him, a scholar.

“I suppose it is,” he murmured quietly among the muffled sounds of floating uomas. “Thank you for listening.”

Myla gave his side a gentle squeeze, and Bretta smiled genuinely at him over her shoulder. Cloth was less subtle and swooped in to pull all four of them in for a crushing hug, and Quirrel snorted at how easily she was able to do so.

The fog swirled around them, a cool, welcomed presence in the halls of the Archives.


	3. Day 3: Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s arts and crafts time in Greenpath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAY BUGS GAY BUGS GAY BUGS GAY BUGS GAY BUGS-

Sheo had always been the spryer of the two. While the Nailsmith had spent decades hunched over his forge, causing aches and pains in his old age, Sheo had trained relentlessly in the art of the Nail and, despite being past his prime, still moved with the fitness of a Nailmaster. This was evident now, as the Nailsmith almost struggled to keep up with his partner as he moved about the hut.

“How are we progressing, little one?” Sheo knelt down at the table so that he was eye-level with Ghost. The small vessel bounced up and down in their chair, proudly sporting paint splatters all over their hands and mask. They slid over an incomplete painting for him to inspect: a juvenile rendition of Greenpath, complete with several of the mosscreeps they had taken a liking to.

“How lovely!” Sheo praised, making Ghost clap their hands in delight. “You are certainly making progress with your shading. I look forward to seeing the final product.”

The Nailsmith chuckled behind his half-finished sculpture as Sheo nimbly rose to his feet, rounding the table to check on another one of their guests with a spark in his eye. His apron pockets were full of paintbrushes and colored pencils that clacked together with each stride. More art supplies he had scraped together were strewn all over the tabletop, everything from lumps of colored clay to watercolors to baskets of yarn. 

Hollow had an easel to prop up their canvas with so they could see it better. Their hand still shook whenever they gently drew the brush across the canvas, but they seemed to have more control over it than the first time they visited. They tilted their mask expectantly as Sheo approached.

“Ah, you’ve decided to take inspiration from Dirtmouth today?” Sheo guessed, bending forward to inspect the painting. “Very impressive! Your strokes have become much more consistent.”

Being mindful of Hollow’s blind side, the Nailsmith leaned over to sneak a quick glance and silently agreed. Though a few outlines of buildings and lampposts were still shaky in certain areas, there was definitely talent present on Hollow’s canvas. “Well done,” he spoke up.

Hollow seemed pleased at the encouragement, or about as pleased as they could manage to look. They had been getting better at expressing themselves between visits, but sometimes it was still difficult to tell what they were thinking.

Sheo’s next destination was an armchair positioned only a small distance from the table. Hornet was curled up among the pillows, nimble fingers working a pair of knitting needles with aged practice. She appeared to be making a quilt of sorts, with many patterns and words of the Deepnest language woven into it.

“The colors you’ve chosen are very pleasing to the eye,” Sheo remarked, watching her work in slight awe. Despite excelling in many forms of art, he had never gotten the hang of knitting.

Hornet looked up. “Thank you. I hope the amount of yarn I am using is not a bother. I slightly underestimated the size.”

“It won’t be used otherwise.” Sheo waved off the concern, appearing much more interested in the quilt. “Stories are woven into the textiles of Deepnest, correct? What does this one entail?”

Hornet thought for a moment. “It’s rather difficult to immediately convert it into Hallownest tongue, but if you like, I can bring a proper translation next time we visit.”

Sheo seemed satisfied with this answer, gushing over how complex the knitting was for a few more minutes before returning to the table. The Nailsmith grinned in amusement, noticing the former Nailmaster make a beeline for him out of the corner of his eye. Sheo with an active muse was the equivalent of a mildly organized (and quite handsome) cyclone of acrylic paint, and it was incredibly endearing to watch.

Sheo settled in next to him like it was second nature, pressing against his side. “Hello, dear.” His gaze fell upon the clay the Nailsmith was shaping, studying it closely. He was always so interested in the pieces others would create, taking the time to find aspects that he liked to comment on. “The sculpting seems to be coming along well. You’ve always been particularly adept at modeling Isma.”

“Thank you.” The Nailsmith took a break from his sculpture to lean his head against Sheo’s. “Aren’t we excited today?”

Sheo’s chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Apologies for being so frazzled, but it’s always exciting to share my craft with so many at once.”

“Agreed. It’s nice to have company over.” The Nailsmith turned his head, giving Sheo’s cheek a quick peck. “And no apologies needed. You’re precious when you’re inspired.”

Sheo huffed slightly, kissing him back. “If that is precious, then you are ten-fold, love.”

“Debatable.” Laughing, ignoring Sheo’s affectionate protests, the Nailsmith reached for a piece of paper and a pencil. “Sit with me for a spell, and release some of that energy. I’m sure your muse will appreciate it.”

“Indeed it will.” Sheo accepted the utensil and immediately tackled the paper with renewed zeal, sketching up a storm. The pencil strokes quickly took the form of the large table they were all gathered around, still littered with art supplies and finished crafts.

They worked in a comfortable silence, shoulders bumping occasionally. The Nailsmith could practically feel the happiness radiating off of his partner in soft, warm waves. He’d never connected emotionally to another bug in such a strong way before. Though he had enjoyed his work at the forge, it was a lonely career, with little room for relationships. But his new calling allowed for such a bond to form, and it was a wonderful feeling to have that companionship and emotional tenderness he’d been deprived of.

To think, he had spent a lifetime not knowing this luxury. 

Sheo stepped away to check on their guests again, and the Nailsmith took the opportunity to glance over at the sketch. He smiled, admiring the artstyle he’d come to recognize immediately. Ghost and Hollow were drawn side-by-side, sharing each others’ canvases. Hornet was in the armchair, away from the table but not at too much of a distance, surrounded by quilts and baskets of yarn. At the head of the table sat sketches of both him and Sheo. The two of them were leaning against each other, eyelids lowered in contentment. How Sheo managed to capture such a peaceful feeling on paper was a mystery.

Regardless of whether or not it would be finished, it was definitely being hung up on the wall, the Nailsmith decided.

Ghost called Sheo over and requested help with finishing their painting; apparently they were also adding the group into their piece and needed help with proportions. Sheo taught them how to measure with their thumb, and they spent a good few minutes using the trick on the Nailsmith as he laughed, trying not to move too much. Hollow, meanwhile, was beginning to feel the aches of sitting still for so long and took a break from painting, instead deciding to go and join their sister. They ended up having to set Hornet on their lap in order to fit in the armchair; Hornet rolled her eyes at this with faux seriousness but accepted her fate.

“Beautiful drawing,” the Nailsmith commented idly once Sheo returned to his spot, motioning to the sketch.

Sheo nuzzled the side of his forehead. “Thank you, love, although it’s impossible to capture your essence perfectly on paper.”

“Oh, hush,” the Nailsmith sighed, bumping their heads together teasingly. “You and your relentless flattery.”

“I only speak the truth.” Sheo’s hand slipped into his, and their fingers intertwined. A soft sigh escaped him, his cloaked shoulders slumping as he relaxed. “To have other presences in my home, it feels as though I’ll never be lonely again.”

The Nailsmith empathetically lowered his gaze to their hands. They had both been lonely, with several years of isolation under their belts as a result of the Infection. It was a miracle they had found each other, really. “You won’t be, so long as I remain on this earth,” he promised, giving the hand a squeeze.

Sheo smiled. “I trust you don’t plan on leaving it without me, correct?”

“Not in the slightest, my dear,” the Nailsmith confirmed. “Otherwise, the Gods will have to personally answer to me for it.” And they would, somehow, he swore to himself. He was not letting this new life slip away from him that easily.

Sheo laughed, a low, pleasant noise, and pressed a chaste kiss his forehead, just shy of his horn. “Then we can both agree that they’ll rue the day they dare separate us.”

“If they even accomplish such a thing.”


	4. Day 4: Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crystals called to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry Myla ilysm I promise I do
> 
> Things get kinda yikes in this chapter, just a warning fjsjvksv

The sound of gentle humming filled the caverns, kept in tempo by the consistent bang of Myla’s pickaxe as it hit the crystal. She finished her verse and took a brief moment to pause, wiping sweat from her forehead. A collection of the jagged purple crystals lay on the ground at her feet, and she knelt down to start scooping them up.

The cart she had lugged from one of the upper floors was almost full, she noticed as she dropped the crystals in. She’d have to push it out to a vendor soon. Not many were available to accept her crystals nowadays, but surely there was someone in the town above who would!

Shaking out her hands, Myla roughly shoved the cart towards the entrance to the mines. The rusty wheels screeched in protest, but they still rolled rather easily; working every day in the mines had given her a surprising amount of upper body strength.

 _“Bury my mother, p-pale and slight,”_ she murmured to herself, her voice filling the empty caverns. _“Bury my father, with his eyes shut tight...bury my s-sisters, two by t-“_

Myla halted in her tracks, a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She sniffed the air; it was thick, and tainted with a ugly sweetness that twisted her insides.

Oh no…

Abandoning the cart, she grabbed her pickaxe with trembling hands and crept towards the entrance. Hiding behind one of the wooden beams, she peered outside. The caverns were the same dull, dark color they had always been, but the air didn’t feel the same. It was _wrong._

A rustle from overhead, and a lumbering figure stumbled into view on the cliffs above. Their gait was unsteady, unnatural, the only sounds they made being garbled speech and hissing noises. They limped forward, and the bright orange glint in their glossy eyes was unmistakable.

They were _Infected._

Myla drew back into the mines with a quiet gasp, feeling her heart rate quicken. She knew the Infection had seeped into the area long ago, but her own little corner of the Crossroads had always been safe from such influences. Now those husks, their minds torn apart and rendered useless by the plague, were slowly making their way down to the mines. She was next.

Her body quivered, panic starting to seep in. Despite her strength, she wasn’t a fighter in the slightest, and she would surely be overwhelmed before she could make it to the well- oh Gods, what if the Infection had taken the town, too? Was nothing safe anymore? If she left the mines, she’d be killed, but if she stayed, the husks would just find her anyway.

Myla retreated back even further, her breaths quick and strained. She didn’t know what to do. She had no idea how to fend for herself, alone against the hordes of Infected just outside the mines. She desperately wished some of her fellow miners were still here, both for comfort and protection, but all of them had either quit or turned long ago. Even her own family was gone, having disappeared without a trace during one of her shifts. Whether they had abandoned her or been killed she had no idea, and she honestly didn’t know which one to prefer.

She was completely, hopelessly alone.

Myla slid down to the floor and stifled a whimper, hot tears burning behind her eyelids. She didn’t want to die. Please, she didn’t want to die, she begged, trying her hardest not to cry and draw attention to herself. She was so, _so dreadfully afraid_ of dying, especially now, when dying only meant being reanimated later as a walking vessel of Infection, doomed to suffer for eternity. 

Myla didn’t know how long she sat there for, wallowing in her despair. By the time she raised her head, she caught a faint glimmer out of the corner of her eye. Wiping her tears, she stood on wobbly legs and looked over towards the back of the mine.

The crystals were glowing.

Her brow furrowed as she stared harder. That...was new. She didn’t remember them glowing before, at least not with such intensity. Slightly curious, she carefully inched forward. A soft golden light was emitting from the crystals behind the wall, where she had caused a deep crack in the stone. Was there something there, something valuable, buried under all of the rock and soil?

Myla drew closer. The light was so warm and soothing, compared to the choking darkness of the abandoned kingdom. She felt her tears drying on her cheeks, a faint smile ghosting her face as she stopped just before the wall, admiring the glow.

What was behind it? Suddenly, that was all she could think about. Myla raised her pickaxe and, experimentally, gave the stone a tap.

She jolted back, startled, as _whispering_ stirred among the glittering rocks. 

That was definitely not normal.

Myla knew it was in her best interest to leave now, before something terrible happened, but she just...couldn’t. The crystals sounded so friendly and inviting, much like the golden light they gave off. Though she couldn’t tell what they were saying, their whispers made her heart warm, like talking with a childhood friend after years of separation. She didn’t feel alone anymore.

Myla absolutely had to dig behind this wall. She had to know what they were saying, what they wanted.

Her pickaxe clanged against the wall, slowly chipping away at the aged stone. With each hit, the crystals grew more and more excited, and their light only intensified. It would have blinded her if she wasn’t already used to its comforting warmth. She dug faster, her curiosity only growing. What was behind this wall? Riches? Powers? Did the crystals simply seek her company? 

Myla didn’t know how much time had passed. She didn’t care, really. All that mattered was getting to the crystals. She was getting close, she could feel it!

She sang her favorite songs to the crystals, and they sang back. They loved her voice. Not many other bugs had enjoyed her singing, often calling it an annoyance, but the crystals loved it.

She didn’t sleep. Why would she? She had to get to the crystals first. They were so excited for her, waiting for the moment she would finally reach them. She could almost hear them now.

This was the happiest she’d been in a long time. After being lonely for so long, having the crystals there to talk to her and glow for her was a wonderful feeling. The horrors of the outside world didn’t matter here. There was no Infection, no death, no depressing atmosphere to be slowly crushed beneath. Just her and her lovely crystals.

One day (or night, she couldn’t tell), a stranger entered the mines. It had been so long since she’d stared at anything other than the golden light that it took her eyes a minute to adjust. The stranger didn’t have a name or a voice, but they seemed pleasant, and they appeared to enjoy her singing. Myla invited them to join her on her hunt for the crystals, wanting to share how wonderful they were, but the stranger declined and left shortly after. She was saddened at first, but the crystals comforted her in their own way.

More time passed. Myla still didn’t sleep, and she hadn’t taken a break for quite a while now. Why would she? She was having fun! The crystals were having fun too, singing along to her songs and whispering encouragements. She could almost hear them clearly now. She was so close!

Sometimes she became tired; her body had its limits, and mining relentlessly was starting to push them. But only a little bit! The crystals were always quick to soothe her when this happened. The light they emitted eased any aches and pains in her arms and back, and she would be back to mining in seconds.

The stranger came back again. Myla was surprised, to say the least; it had been a while since she’d seen the same bug more than once. Once again, she invited them to join her, but they turned down her offer in favor of sitting and listening to her singing. She enjoyed that just as much.

It was so nice, to not be alone.

Eternities passed. Myla was starting to get tired now, and no amount of golden light was fixing it this time. Still, she kept going, not wanting to upset the crystals. Surely she was almost there, anyway. 

Her arms were sore from swinging a pickaxe for so long. She wanted to take a break, but the whispers swirled around her, gently pushing her to keep going, she was almost there, she couldn’t quit now!

So she kept mining.

And mining.

And mining.

And mining.

Her back ached. It was hard to maintain her rhythm, but she had to. The crystals were always so happy whenever she was digging. She couldn’t let them down.

So she kept mining.

And mining.

And mining.

And mining.

“How much longer must I dig?” Myla wearily asked aloud. The light no longer soothed her like it had before. Her arms burned from exertion. She wanted to take a break, just for a minute, but the crystals whispered angrily in her ear at the mere thought. She didn’t want to make them angry.

So she kept mining.

And mining.

And mining.

And mining.

Myla was so tired. So, so tired.

Her pickaxe cracked against the wall and stayed there; she didn’t want to lift it up again. “Please, I…” Her body shook. “I d-don’t want to do this anymore.” 

The light suddenly _BURNED,_ burned with an intensity Myla had never felt before, and the crystals roared and screamed at her until she crumpled underneath their rage. Wailing, she squeezed her eyes shut, cowering like a scared grub.

“I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry!” she cried. “I won’t stop, I’m sorry!”

She blindly reached for her pickaxe and lifted it, ignoring her body begging her to stop. Immediately, the crystals calmed. She had to keep them calm.

So she kept mining.

And mining.

And mining.

And mining.

Myla dropped her pick. 

Bloodcurdling screaming pounded against her skull, ordering her to keep going, keep going, _KEEP GOING,_ but she couldn’t. The light seared her vision, contempt, bloodthirsty, _OBEY ME,_ but she couldn’t do it anymore. She didn’t care about how much the light hurt, how much her head hurt, how much everything hurt; she was _not_ picking it up again.

She stood there and sobbed for what seemed like centuries, unable to do anything but endure the yelling, the blinding light, the light, the light, was she still singing? She couldn’t tell, she couldn’t hear herself over the sound of those horrible, horrible voices _SCREAMING_ at her.

Even when Myla’s tears finally ran dry, she continued to stand in place, too exhausted to move. She at least tried to look away from the light but found that she couldn’t physically do so, as if her gaze had been caught in a crawlid trap, why did she need it, why couldn’t she look away, it hurt so much, please look away, but she needed it so badly…

The screaming morphed from poisoned words into harsh commands, orders for her to _KILL, KILL IT,_ but who was ‘it’, who was _she,_ did she even have a name, _KILL THE EMPTY ONE,_ she didn’t want to, she didn’t want to, _DANGEROUS,_ a stranger stood in front of her, their hand on their weapon, head tilted in concern, _KILL IT,_ they approached her slowly, her vision was tinted orange, _KILL THE EMPTY ONE-_

Her body suddenly lurched, _KILL,_ it was no longer hers, it grabbed a pickaxe, _KILL,_ the stranger dodged the weapon, _KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT,_ she didn’t want to, _LIGHT, OBEY,_ the stranger raised their nail, _no no no no please KILL IT KILL THE EMPTY ONE please no NO MEANING stop it please LIGHT AGAIN bury body KILL THE EMPTY ONE cover shell DARKNESS NO MEANING LIGHT AGAIN KILL THE EMPTY ONE I’m sorry STILL REMAIN DANGEROUS KILL THE EMPTY ONE I’m so sorry TIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN DARKNESS NO MEANING KILL IT KILL IT KILL please help me WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN WHAT MEANING IN DARKNESS YET HERE I REMAIN I’LL WAIT HERE FOREVER UNTIL LIGHT BLOOMS AGAIN_ her body _SPASMED_ and _WRITHED,_ her head felt as though it was splitting open as the loudest, most horrific _ROAR_ she had ever heard raged in her skull, the light _BURNED_ her eyes, brighter and brighter until she was _SCREAMING_ too, it hurt so much, more than anything she’d ever felt, please she wanted it to _END PLEASE STOP_ and then…

Myla embraced the darkness, never wanting to see light again.


	5. Day 5: Hornet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hornet takes a break from hunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooh we got more angst bois kvskvkksg
> 
> It’s paired with a bit of fluff this time tho

“Hello, Mother.”

As always, Hornet’s words were met with painful silence. She swallowed.

“Apologies for arriving unprecedentedly.” She took a seat on the steps of the plinth, as she always did, and lay her needle across her lap. “I should be hunting, really, but something compelled me to visit you instead.”

She knew she must look silly, talking to an empty room. Insane, even. Maybe she was slightly, but it did help ease her conscience, even if only for a little while. It wasn’t as if anyone was around to come across her, anyway.

“There’s no sign of another wave of Infection,” Hornet reported, her fingers tracing the thousands of tiny creases on her needle. “I scoured every corner of Hallownest, it seems, but nothing. Perhaps it is truly gone.”

It was hard to believe, the plague that haunted Hallownest for so long suddenly completely vanishing, though it certainly left its mark upon the kingdom. Many of the Infected perished upon the Radiance’s defeat, too far gone to have a decent chance. Only a very small handful were lucky enough to survive, and even fewer were mentally sound enough to tell about it.

Hornet sighed. It was always difficult to figure out what to say at first. “The town seems to be faring well. Prey is stretched thin, but we believe the change of seasons will remedy that. In any case, those who are ailing are receiving the nutrients they need.”

Her stomach growled. She changed the subject. 

“Ghost is as rambunctious as ever. They make themselves useful if they desire to, but that is a rarity. You would find them amusing, I know.” Hornet smiled wryly. “I assumed they would grow restless, being cooped up in the house, but they take to supporting their sibling more than I believed they would.”

Hornet’s gaze dropped to the floor, her mood dampening slightly. “Hollow is...improving, albeit slowly. They have become more responsive, and I have Ghost to thank for it, but their conditioning is still very much present in their behavior.”

Hornet hunched over, feeling the stress on her thin shoulders. “I worry, Mother, that our efforts will be in vain. That our sibling will succumb to their injuries.” She inwardly cursed at the emotion trickling into her voice.

“I’ve thought about it,” Hornet admitted. “About ending their suffering. But I can never bring myself to do it. I know it is selfish of me, but an instinct within me refuses.” 

How hypocritical of her, to cut down countless siblings but to spare Hollow, who deserved that mercy the most. What was there to gain from it? Nothing but her own trivial feelings, her own desperate attempts to cling to someone familiar out of childish desire. 

Hornet laughed bitterly. “After so long, one would think I’d be more mature.”

She had believed for the longest time that she was mature, she had to be. In the ruins of Hallownest, vulnerability was damning, relationships were weaknesses, hope was torn apart, and any sort of childish wishes were relentlessly destroyed. She had pushed it all away in favor of stone-cold apathy, the one thing that kept her from being twisted into the Radiance’s puppet.

But no, that was not true maturity. All Hornet had done was suffocate those feelings until they were released in despicable ways. Instead of giving Hollow the mercy they needed, she kept them alive. Instead of letting Ghost roam free, she harbored them in the house they all shared to make herself feel better. Instead of hunting and providing for the town she stayed in, she was here, venting to someone who could no longer listen.

“I am a mess, aren’t I?” she asked rhetorically. Her hand reached back on instinct to feel for one of Herrah’s arms, only to grasp nothing. Her heart jumped into her throat, then sank just as quickly. Of course, Herrah had disappeared after Ghost had struck her with their Dream Nail. Her mother’s body wasn’t even there to properly mourn over anymore.

“You would hate who I have become,” Hornet murmured to the plinth, resting her arms on it, and reconsidered her word choice. “Perhaps not hate, but you would most certainly be appalled. Despite my immaturity, I am no longer the cheerful child you had once known. I am but a mere shadow of that, Mother. I have siblings, yet I cannot bring myself to be anything more than distant towards them. I am supposed to lead by example, yet I feel as hollow as they should have been.”

Hornet sighed again. “They deserve better than me, Mother. Someone who has more experience with familial relationships, preferably.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, heard by no one but herself. The den was cold and silent. It felt as though she had been thrown into the midst of the Infection again, left behind by everyone she had ever known, with no one else to understand how unfair it was.

Hornet moped against the plinth for hours, unable to bring herself to do anything else. When she finally left the den and took the stag station to Greenpath, she could tell by the dormancy of the bushes and paths that nightfall would arrive soon. She had been out for way too long, but she didn’t want to return to Dirtmouth empty-handed either.

The lumafly lanterns were lit by the time Hornet arrived at the house, the last two pieces of game tucked away in her satchel. The home was on the larger side to accommodate all three of them, and was positioned on the outskirts of town. It thankfully was still in one piece, which meant Ghost hadn’t gotten into trouble while she was gone.

Upon opening the front door, a small shape suddenly flung itself around her middle and she jumped, almost reaching for her nail on instinct. No, no, it was _fine,_ she should not be so jumpy.

Small, cold hands reached for her mask and rapidly tapped it, and she jerked away. “Ghost, what are you-“ She pried her sibling off of her chest, holding them out at arm’s length. “What?”

Ghost squirmed, almost bouncing up and down in her grip. They seemed excited, although why that was the case puzzled her. Hornet set them down so they had the opportunity to explain, but they remained at her side, tugging on her cloak and hopping energetically.

“...I was not gone for very long,” she remarked slowly. Surely all of this excitement was not for her.

Ghost silently huffed and pointed out the window, where the sun could be seen sinking under the horizon.

“That is still a mere few hours,” Hornet pointed out matter-of-factly. “Not enough for a cause of worry or fanfare-“

Ghost suddenly grabbed her hand and half-dragged her down the hallway, towards the bedrooms. Hollow’s door was ajar, and Hornet’s stomach twisted as an idea occurred to her. Was something wrong, and that was why Ghost was so eager for her arrival? She quickened her pace to match Ghost’s, already fumbling for the medical supplies she kept with her.

Hollow was half-lying in their bed where she had left them, which was a good sign. Their massive head swiveled around, alerted by the sound of the hinges creaking. Their one good eye spotted her and they immediately tried to sit up, struggling to do so with only one arm.

Hornet shook herself free from Ghost’s surprisingly-tight grip and approached the bed, her concern spiking. “Hollow, what is wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

Shaking with strain, Hollow’s hand reached out, motioning towards her slightly. Hornet’s gaze drifted to the satchel on her back. “Oh, you are hungry, then? I have-“

The large hand of her sibling stretched further, past the strap of the satchel, instead hooking onto her cloak. A sharp noise of surprise escaped her as she was tugged towards the bed, a long arm snaking around her and a giant mask clacking against her own.

“Wh-“ Hornet spluttered for a while, too shocked to try and free herself from the new gesture of affection. “What is this?”

Ghost crawled up next to her, and once again started to rapidly pat her mask with both hands.

That was all, then. There was no tragedy waiting to be discovered, no ulterior motive as to why they were both so excited. They were not annoyed with her for selfishly taking the time to mope instead of hunt for dinner, making her late for the first time since their routine came into effect. Her siblings were just happy to see her. That was all it was.

The wary, survivalist part of Hornet insisted she didn’t have time for this; she had to get dinner started before her siblings got hungry. She had already made them wait long enough.

But the softer, more affectionate part of Hornet allowed her to relax into the embrace, if only slightly. As selfish as it was, it was a nice feeling, knowing that someone was happy to see her come home. Being the protector of Hallownest had always given her that feeling of purpose, a reason to wake up every morning, but this was much more direct, and admittedly a lot more rewarding.

Smiling a little, Hornet gently patted the arm across her chest. She did not deserve them. “I missed you two as well.”


	6. Day 6: Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They like to pitch in with the chores sometimes, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 99.99% of the Hollow Knight fandom: Today’s prompt is Hunter, so it only makes sense that everyone would draw/write about The Hunter and nothing else
> 
> Me, a dumbass: haha grimmchild go brr

Grimmchild was on the hunt.

Their scarlet eyes eagerly tracked the minuscule twitches among the grass, growing more and more excited as the tiny scuffles drew closer. The scent was tantalizing. They’d been tracking their prey for some time now, and it had unknowingly walked into a perfect place for them to strike.

The scuffling was louder now. Grimmchild pressed themselves as low to the ground as they could, tail lashing in anticipation. Hunting was always fun, but they were determined to get this prey back home in relatively one piece. The last one had been too mangled to bring into the house and they had to eat it outside.

The grass parted, and a tiktik crawled its way into the open air, completely oblivious. Grimmchild waited until it was passing right by their hiding spot, before bending their winged arms and pouncing with a cry of triumph.

Unfortunately, they had greatly underestimated the tiktik’s awareness, as it noticed them at the last second and let out an alarmed squeak. It scuttled away, and Grimmchild’s claws sank into dry soil instead of flesh and chitin.

Growling in frustration, they glared at the fleeing tiktik and spat a fireball in its direction. They did not miss this time, and the tiny bug yelped as it was scorched along its side. Surprisingly, it still managed to escape, squeezing through the fence and running across the dusty ground.

Grimmchild giggled in delight. The chase was on!

They ducked under the fence and took to the air, racing after the tiktik into the streets of Dirtmouth. It was fast, but with their wings they had no problem keeping up with it. They weaved between buildings and passersby alike, cackling away, nearly running into Nice Scholar Bug and having absolutely no regrets in knocking over Loud Angry Bug, sending his wooden nail flying.

If only they were better at aiming, Grimmchild lamented. A constant stream of fireballs flew from their mouth with the intention of setting the tiktik ablaze, but they could not seem to get the angle right. It was a good thing the majority of Dirtmouth wasn’t flammable, although the grass was not spared.

It seemed as though the tiktik’s adrenaline was finally starting to wear off, and it tripped and stumbled over itself. Sensing the opportunity, Grimmchild launched one last flame, and squealed with glee as it slammed into its target, sending the tiktik tumbling into a flower patch with a high-pitched wail.

Petals flew everywhere as Grimmchild dove into the bush, finding the tiktik and sinking their teeth deep into its neck, shaking it violently from side to side for good measure. They dropped it for a close inspection, watching intently as it thudded dully against the earth, completely still.

They had done it! They celebrated, hopping up and down and chirruping victoriously. Now all they had to do was bring it back home and they could show everyone what they had been up to.

Grimmchild fastened their teeth around the tiktik’s neck and hoisted themselves into the air again, struggling a little to balance themselves at first. They briefly glanced back at the flowers they had trampled in their haste, feeling a little remorseful. But they hadn’t set the flowers on fire this time, so that was a definite improvement.

They flew back home, proudly showing off their kill to anyone who glanced their way. They hoped it wasn’t too beaten up; they had spent a long time stalking it, making sure it was meaty and healthy. They had even started the cooking process already by using their flames to kill it! They were a genius!

One of the front windows was open slightly, and Grimmchild squeezed their way inside the house. Ghost Bug (the only name they could consistently remember) was at the table, arranging plates and silverware and appearing rather disgruntled about it. Grimmchild soared towards them and, once they had their caretaker’s attention, craned their neck to display their prized tiktik like a trophy. Ghost Bug lit up and clapped their hands, praising the catch, then beckoned the child into the kitchen.

Sister Bug and Sibling Bug were at the counter, preparing dinner. Grimmchild proudly hovered over and dumped the tiktik onto the smooth surface, right next to the stove. They plopped down behind it, practically about to burst with excitement. Look at what they had caught!

Sister Bug tilted her head. “Is that for dinner?” she asked, voice neutral.

Grimmchild nodded enthusiastically, tail wagging. 

Sister Bug picked up the tiktik and examined it thoroughly. She hummed to herself, sounding surprised. “It does not appear to be nearly as mangled as the previous one you brought home.”

Grimmchild shook their head, nearly making themselves dizzy in the process. They had made sure not to tear it apart despite how satisfying it was; Sister Bug hadn’t liked that very much last time.

“Very well. Thank you, Grimmchild; I will add it to the pan shortly. Hollow, would you watch the stove while I skin this, please?” Once Sibling Bug obliged, Sister Bug reached for her needle and set to work on removing the ivory-colored chitin, slicing away at it with ease.

Grimmchild made a series of high-pitched noises, nearly vibrating as their chest swelled with pride. That was _their_ catch; they had done it all on their own! They had hunted for their family! They were being useful! Oh, how exciting!

They watched in awe as Sister Bug finished skinning the tiktik and chopped it into bite-sized chunks. When she added it to the pan, making it sizzle and pop, they cackled in delight at the smell. Ghost Bug was similarly excited, giving Grimmchild a squeeze of encouragement.

Grimmchild was given their own portion of the meal that night. Sibling Bug set the bowl down at their place at the table, patting their head affectionately. Grimmchild drooled over the pile of meat and vegetables, easily able to pick out bits of the tiktik they had provided.

They should hunt more often. It was so much fun, bringing food back home for their family to enjoy! Maybe soon they could catch dozens of tiktiks and crawlids and vengeflies and alubas and anything they could get their claws on. Maybe then Sibling Bug would be able to heal faster, and Ghost Bug would have a better chance of growing into their shell instead of staying short forever. Maybe then Sister Bug wouldn’t have to hunt as much and she’d be less stressed.

Grimmchild happily dug into their meal once everyone else was sitting down. Hopefully by that point, they’ll be better at aiming.


	7. Day 7: Circus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimm was always open to sparring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhhhhh I literally had just gotten out of an exam when I wrote this so it’s kinda short I’m sorry T-T

The scarlet flames were warm on Hornet’s face, tinting her mask red with each flash. The arena beneath the audience was scorched, littered with ash and occasional snippets of fallen cloak. Sparks and dust were kicked up as the two dueling bugs danced around the battlefield in a strange but oddly mesmerizing waltz, closely accompanied by music that pounded in her fingertips.

“They are both quite nimble,” Hornet observed, half to herself. Beside her, Hollow’s head jerked back and forth erratically, struggling to keep up with the commotion with only one good eye. Grimmchild sat in the nook between their horns; they had given up on trying to pick a side and decided to cheer for both, chirping whenever either duelist had the upper hand.

The music swelled in intensity, causing the crowd around them to stir in growing excitement. Hornet looked on as her sibling dodged an onslaught of fireballs, hiding a smirk as they dashed in for a cheeky hit at the end. Both nail and claw reflected the glint of the lanterns as the two parried each other once, twice, before more flames consumed the arena. It was a wonder the tent hadn’t caught fire yet.

As if sensing an opportunity opening for them, Ghost propelled themselves into the air with their wings and unleashed a large slash with their nail, abruptly knocking their opponent from the sky. They landed gracefully and, with a confident flourish, pointed the tip of their blade to the other’s neck. The arena stilled, music going quiet.

Then the audience burst into applause, and Hornet found herself politely joining in. Hollow wasn’t able to clap, but they did rap their knuckles against their seat instead. Grimmchild’s voice pierced the air as they let out a loud squeal in elation, tail swaying across the back of Hollow’s mask.

While the applause died down, Grimm dusted off his wings and laughed, a loud, wheezing noise. “A well-earned victory, my friend! You never fail to impress.” He and Ghost bowed to each other, the latter then turning around to race towards their siblings, waving their arms proudly.

“You did well, little Ghost,” Hornet praised, leaning over the balcony of the audience section. Ghost seemed pleased with this, their mask brightening even more so once Hollow nodded in agreement and Grimmchild swooped down to congratulate them, weaving around their horns.

“As they always do,” Grimm chimed in as he approached them. “It appears we are more than evenly matched, though their performance never grows weary to the circus nor the audience.”

Ghost pressed a hand to their face and turned away bashfully as if blushing, waving their other hand dismissively

Grimm smiled, baring his jagged fangs. “Though I must admit, I am still in the mood to dance.” He eyed her, and the needle sheathed on her back, with sudden interest. “Care to take me up on my offer, Princess?”

Hornet blinked, taken aback. “Me?”

“The little one tells me you are rather adept with that needle of yours.” Grimm’s scarlet eyes crinkled with amusement. “They say you have given them quite the thrashing on occasion.”

Either Ghost didn’t register the indirect playful jab in their direction, or they simply didn’t care. They clambered up the wall and tugged on her wrist, as if planning on dragging her into the arena themselves.

Admittedly, Hornet was tempted. The idea of a crowd watching her fight wasn’t her cup of tea in the slightest, but this one seemed infinitely less rambunctious than the one in the Colosseum in Kingdom’s Edge. Besides, it had been an age since she’d last had a proper spar, and a good recreational fight was a luxury that she now had the time for.

“I assume the conditions are the same?” she asked, rising to her feet. Ghost’s excited tugging grew more spontaneous, and Hollow perked their head up in interest.

Grimm’s smile widened. “Naturally.”

“Very well then.” Hornet unsheathed her needle, pointing it in his direction. “I accept your invitation, Troupemaster.”

“Excellent!” As the audience applauded once more, Grimm’s wings billowed around him with the full intent of showing off. “Come join me, Princess! The crowd awaits.”

Hornet stepped away from her seat, preparing to enter the arena, when an unknown force stopped her. Her gaze flirted over to Hollow, who was watching her curiously, and she felt a twang of sympathy. Her sibling had been healing well recently, though she was still rather reluctant to let them wander off by themselves. Hollow had never complained once, but secretly she knew that they were sad about being left out occasionally. That couldn’t be helped most of the time, but...

She eyed the remaining bandages that littered their lanky form. There were a lot less of them now, and underneath she knew that the wounds were nowhere near as deep as they had been in the past. Hollow’s blinded eye was still an issue, and most likely always would be, but they had been improving with handling their limited sight.

They did need the exercise, and the practice, she thought to herself.

“Troupemaster.” When Grimm turned back to face her, Hornet continued. “If the rules allow it, I request that Hollow accompany me for this round if they desire to, provided they do not aggravate their injuries.”

Hollow straightened up in their seat immediately.

Grimm let out a short bark of laughter, sparks dancing in his eyes. “Very well! I see no reason to decline.”

“My thanks to you.” Hornet looked at her sibling expectantly, a trickle of fondness escaping past her walls. “Well? Would you like to join me?”

In response, Hollow leapt to their feet as fast as their body allowed and grabbed their nail, appearing more excited than Hornet had ever seen them. Ghost shared similar anticipation, hopping up and down with Grimmchild dangling in their arms. Once Hollow’s seat was vacant, they gladly slid into it themselves, saluting to them in a gesture of good luck as they approached the arena.

Hornet stirred up tiny clouds of ash as she landed on the floor of the arena. Hollow was much less graceful by comparison, kicking up particles until Hornet nearly sneezed, but they didn’t stumble in the slightest.

Grimm moved to the center of the tent with a puff of bright red smoke. “How wondrous it is, to have a trio here! I wish you luck, for I will not hold back; I expect a most beautiful performance.” He bowed deeply, and the two siblings returned the favor.

“Begin!” The music’s quick introduction sprang to life, and Grimm disappeared from sight.

In the brief moment they had before the spar began, Hornet spared a quick glance at her sibling. Their posture was straight and alert, hand gripping their nail with aged practice. They almost seemed light on their feet, shifting their weight eagerly to prepare themselves. They met her gaze, and their own hardened with determination, an affirmation that they were alright and they absolutely wanted to do this. There was a glint of gratitude there as well, peeking through the empty eye sockets. 

Grimm reappeared, cloak unleashing a series of lashing red dragons, and the siblings charged at him together.


	8. Day 8: Shaman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghost visits the Snail Shaman to check up on someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody: 
> 
> Tiso: *feral screeching*

Ghost merrily skipped up to the ancestral mound, a pair of small sacks in their hand. The torches, decorated with various masks and skulls, crackled and spit ambers in their direction as they passed by. The harsh orange flames stood out against the gentle purples of the mound, streaking red and pink across the walls.

As they passed through the doorway, a horrific scream suddenly erupted from the depths of the mound. Alarmed, Ghost instantly drew their nail and raced inside to find the threat. 

They ascended into the winding hallways and came across the scene immediately. A familiar ant was lying on the floor, curled around the right side of his torso, where a visible crack was seen in his exoskeleton, and swearing at the top of his lungs.

 _“WHAT THE HELL?!”_ Tiso hoisted himself into a kneeling position and glared with all his might at his “attacker”, who watched with unconcealed amusement. “Why did you do that?!”

The Snail Shaman chortled, his necklace of skulls clacking together. “Such theatrics! I barely lay a hand on you.”

“You did _not_ ‘barely lay a hand on me.’ I am-!” Tiso’s fury died down slightly upon noticing the new arrival. “Oh, it’s you.”

Ghost waved cheerfully, glad to see the both of them still in one piece.

The Snail Shaman visibly perked up, and he approached Ghost to properly greet them with a pat on the shoulder. “Greetings, my friend! Come to visit this one here, I presume?” 

“I have a name,” Tiso spat. He rounded on Ghost, jabbing a finger in their direction accusingly. “I thought you said he was a _healer._ He has done nothing of the sort!”

The Snail Shaman scoffed. “You would have perished weeks ago if not for my aid.” 

Ghost nodded in agreement. It was true; Tiso would have surely died if they hadn’t brought him to the shaman, where hours of slow-working healing spells and potions shrank the lethal wound into something more manageable.

Tiso rolled his eyes. “Maybe, but since then you have been nothing but a thorn in my side. I did not go through hell only to be hit in the thorax every time I blink incorrectly.”

The Snail Shaman leaned against his staff, entirely smug. “And yet you remain under my care.”

“I am only here because Ghost demands that I be,” Tiso hissed, pointing at said vessel, who tried their best to look innocent. “If I left, I would never hear the end of it.”

“Ohohoho! Such thoughtfulness! You are quite soft for a warrior.” Ignoring Tiso’s angry spluttering, the Snail Shaman took note of the pouches Ghost still carried in their hand. “Are those for us?”

Ghost nodded enthusiastically, placing one of the sacks in his hand. They then handed one to Tiso, who recovered long enough to accept it.

“How lovely!” The Snail Shaman opened the sack and pulled out a small pastry, the fruit filling concealed by a tiny lattice crust and intricate flowers: Myla’s handiwork. “Such craftsmanship into something so temporary; it’s a sight to behold, truly.” He bit into it, humming pleasantly. “And the taste matches such impressiveness, ohohoho!”

Pleased, Ghost turned to Tiso to observe his reaction. The ant glanced at the pastry he had pulled out, tasted it, and casually dropped it back into the bag. “It’s alright,” he dismissed.

...That was all he was going to say? Myla’s cooking deserved better than that! Ghost stared hard, feeling the void underneath their mask writhing in anger. 

They succeeded in their intimidation, and Tiso actually leaned away from the unsettling sight, sweat forming underneath his hood. “I...stand corrected. They’re good, I suppose.”

Ghost pondered for a moment, then reluctantly backed down. When it came to Tiso, they would accept that answer.

“Pay no mind to his frostiness.” The Snail Shaman finished his pastry and spared an all-knowing glance at Tiso. “His temper is worse than that of my third uncle, but underneath such behavior, he is really quite sensitive.”

“I am not,” Tiso growled, offended.

Once again, the shaman ignored his protests. “His attitude can be whittled down over time. Recently, I have been attempting to condition him to use those vulgar curses of his less often.”

Tiso glared defiantly, smoldering in place. “Fuck off.”

He immediately crumpled to the floor, screaming, as the Snail Shaman poked him none-too-gently in the side, directly over the crack. Ghost leaned over him, slightly concerned, but besides the obvious pain he was in, he seemed to be fine.

“Have no fear, for your friend will make a full recovery within the next coming weeks,” the Snail Shaman reported as if nothing had happened. “As long as he avoids any sort of brooding mawlek in the future. Ohohoho!”

Ghost hopped elatedly, throwing their short arms around him. That was some of the best news they’d heard all day!

Chuckling, the shaman returned the hug. “There is no need to thank me, my friend. After all that you have done for this kingdom, it is the least I can do.”

A thought appeared to occur to him, and he stilled momentarily. “Although, if you ever desire to return the favor, I would appreciate it immensely if you taught your friend here some proper manners. Having my family and I cursed every time I attempt to help becomes rather stale after the first week.”


	9. Day 9: Moths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Resting Grounds were full of those moth statues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy oh boy we got some Ho l l o w a n g s t :0000

Hollow was angry.

They weren’t angry often. Emotions were still fairly new and exciting to them, but anger was one of the few they didn’t like delving into very much. They never felt like themselves during bouts of it, and it was often intense enough to leave them tired and sad afterwards. They didn’t know how bugs like Tiso or Zote could stand it.

Breathing a mute sigh, they craned their back towards the waterfall, listening to it crash against the rocks below. If one stared hard enough, the outline of a tunnel entrance was barely visible behind the rushing water. Their siblings were back there, and more frustration throbbed in the scars on their chest at the reminder.

Ghost had wanted to visit the Resting Grounds, explaining that they had to pay respects to one of their friends that had passed away, and had asked their siblings to come along. Hornet and Hollow had both agreed, and that was when Ghost, through an awkward series of charades, had warned the larger vessel that said friend was a member of the Moth Tribe.

Naturally, after eternities of being chained up with the angry god of said Moth Tribe, Hollow had been a tad apprehensive. While they were sure Ghost’s friend was nice, that experience had left them with a bad taste in their mouth when it came to moths. They had considered not going at all, not wanting to ruin the trip for either of their siblings, but Ghost had asked them so nicely and had clearly wanted them to come along, so they’d agreed anyway.

Hollow had been so determined to make Ghost happy, in fact, that they had ended up forcing themselves into a false sense of confidence on the stag ride to the Resting Grounds. Perhaps it would not be as traumatic as they thought, they had decided.

It wasn’t as if they would be interacting with the moth in any way, they had rationalized, ducking their head to avoid bumping their horns on the roof of the station.

It would just be a memorial, nothing more, they had concluded, allowing Hornet to help them climb up the rocks. There would be nothing to painfully remind them of their past suffering besides their own memories.

And then they had spotted the giant moth statue in the center of the cavern.

Hollow had immediately panicked without meaning to, stumbling towards the entrance as wisps of orange started to cloud their vision. Hornet had turned back, asking if they were alright, but they were already scrambling back through the waterfall, desperate to escape the phantoms of chains that had begun to wrap around their shoulders.

And now Hollow was here, at the foot of the waterfall, stewing in self-hatred.

Their one remaining fist clenched until it trembled. How pathetic they were, fleeing from a _statue_ like a scared grub. They were way too far into their recovery to be reacting to nothing in such a strong manner. It was just a moth; it hardly even looked anything like _Her._

Orange spots danced in Hollow’s peripherals, and they shook their head erratically. No, no, don’t think about that, don’t think about that-

Searching for something to distract themselves, their mind drifted to their siblings and they immediately felt even worse. All Ghost had wanted was for Hollow to be there while they paid their respects, maybe half an hour at most, and they had failed even at that. And no matter how much Hollow wanted to march right back in and redeem themselves, they absolutely could _not_ face that moth statue again.

How disgustingly cowardly they were.

Soon, they picked up on the sound of quiet footsteps traversing the rocks. Hornet and Ghost had returned, and Hollow hunched even lower, knowing they would be upset, or worse: _disappointed._

“Hollow?” A red cloak approached them, swaying slightly. “Are you alright?”

Hollow couldn’t even face their sister, shame burning relentlessly through their form.

Pebbles shifted, and Ghost crawled their way into Hollow’s lap, wings flashing briefly under their cloak. They looked so genuinely concerned, and the taller vessel had to steel themselves at the sight. They did not deserve such care directed their way.

Hornet took a seat next to them. “We wanted to give you a moment’s respite before returning. We’re-“ She paused, smoothing out her cloak absentmindedly. “Our apologies, for enabling the belief that you were required to join us.”

Ghost nodded solemnly in agreement.

Hollow’s confused stare flipped back and forth between the two. Why were their siblings apologizing? _They_ were the one who had acted out of line. To emphasize this, they shook their head and pointed harshly at themselves, allowing what was left of their self-directed anger to conduct their movements.

Hornet blinked, appalled. “You are not to blame for a justified reaction to the suffering you have endured.” She took a breath before continuing, her voice softer. “It is unreasonable to consider yourself completely recovered mentally. There is no crime in being afraid of such traumas.”

Hollow shied away from her unwavering gaze. Though they knew she was right- she always was- it did little to convince them or make them feel less pathetic. Ghost, meanwhile, balanced on their leg and patted the cheek of their mask with tiny hands, avoiding the large crack over their eye.

“Myla has gained a strong aversion to bright lights,” Hornet spoke up after a pause to think. “And Quirrel has his moments of emotional vulnerability. Do you think these make either of them any less of a bug?”

Slowly, Hollow shook their head.

“Then why would avoiding moths make _you_ any less of a bug?”

Hollow reared back, ready to prepare an argument, but found themselves unable to. It was such simple logic in any other circumstance, and yet it left them dumbfounded. 

Hornet hid a smirk, but her gaze was soft, much more fitting that of a kind sister than a fierce guardian of Hallownest. “It is settled, then. You are not a coward for being reasonably uncomfortable, and we most certainly are not angry at you for expressing such discomfort.”

Ghost embraced Hollow’s torso and squeezed as tightly as they dared, nuzzling with their mask. They beckoned Hornet closer, and she hesitantly obliged, perching on Hollow’s other leg. Hollow visibly shuddered, mask dipping to brush the horns of their siblings, the rush of relief enough to make them feel slightly lightheaded.

Hollow would not return to the Resting Grounds for a long time, and they were all perfectly fine with that.


	10. Day 10: Vessel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghost remembered the fight with their fallen sibling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F in the chat for Broken Vessel

The silent lump of cloak and mask lay exactly where Ghost had left it, larger than them but still much too small and frail to be there. Their eye sockets were a different sort of empty than what the Void provided. There was no life, no oppressing darkness, nor even the harsh orange of Infection: just a blankness that cut into Ghost’s very core.

Ghost stared. Hollow stared. The broken vessel gazed lifelessly back.

Ghost suppressed a shudder, hands clenching to grip an invisible nail handle on instinct. Despite cutting down countless Infected bugs with little to no remorse, this particular fight they remembered well. The corpse of their sibling had been bad enough, but witnessing the dozens of Infected lightseeds piling into their skull had been even worse. Ghost almost expected the vessel to suddenly lurch to their feet, stumbling, nail swinging with no real sense of control.

Hollow knelt down at the body of the vessel, shoulders slumped in sorrow. Ghost remained at their side, unable to look away. The gaping hole in their fallen sibling’s skull made them internally cringe. They didn’t know what could’ve caused it, but it must have hurt. A _lot._

Ghost abruptly straightened up and grabbed one of the shovels the two had brought. They didn’t want to take in the sight any longer than they had to.

They found a spot where the stone had been eroded away, revealing softer soil underneath, and began to dig. Hollow rose to help, but the brown sludge that was once puddles of Infection was enough to prevent them from doing so. But Ghost didn’t mind; it wouldn’t be a very big hole, anyways.

They could feel those empty sockets boring into them as they worked.

Ghost had originally believed the vessel had been long-dead by the time they had shown up. It was not really their sibling that they were facing, just a mindless husk, much like the ones they had struck down everywhere else in Hallownest. It was the only way they had managed to convince themselves to keep the fight going, to drive away the Infection that was ruthlessly desecrating their sibling’s body.

But all of that naive, wishful thinking had been immediately dashed the moment Ghost emerged victorious. Infection had uselessly spilled from the vessel’s head as they collapsed, and then, in a disturbing moment of sentience, they had reached towards them with a trembling, pleading hand, before falling still forever.

Ghost had been _very_ quick to draw their Dream Nail afterward, to dispel the ghost of their sibling and to finally put them to rest. They had never been so relieved to see the essence flowing into the blade of their sword.

The hole was a little deeper than intended, but Ghost decided that it would still work fine and beckoned Hollow over. The larger vessel gingerly leaned over to gently scoop up the remains of their sibling, as if they were made of fine china. Hollow maneuvered slowly around the remains of Infection, then crouched to very, very carefully place the body in the depths of the hole.

The dirt piled over the broken vessel with each stroke of the shovel. Ghost didn’t know why they and Hollow had felt the need to do this; the vessel was already at rest, with their spirit no longer stagnant in the ruined kingdom. Hornet had given them the idea after she had mentioned burying a few slain Weavers left behind in Deepnest, and it had felt right to do the same for this vessel.

The body was hidden from view. Robotically, Ghost patted down the dirt with their hands to pack it in place. They didn’t want anything to disturb the fallen vessel ever again.

Hollow grabbed a slab of stone and stuck it into the earth, so that the flat part was facing them. Neither of them could write well enough to carve anything yet, but it felt dishonoring to not have a tombstone.

They sat in front of the makeshift grave for a long while. Ghost knew Hornet would worry if they didn’t start to head back to the surface soon, but neither they nor Hollow could bring themselves to get up just yet. Though their bond with this vessel wasn’t nearly as reinforced as that with their sister or each other, they were still a sibling. They were still family.

Ghost had killed their family.

The guilt bubbled in the back of their throat, an ugly, bitter feeling. They had rescued so many of their friends and family from the wrath of the Radiance. Couldn't they have saved this vessel as well, if they had tried hard enough? Couldn’t they have taken that glimmer of sentience and used it to pull their sibling away from the raging light of the Infection and back to the surface, where they would be loved just as dearly as everyone else? 

Eyes downtrodden, Ghost pressed themselves against Hollow for some semblance of comfort. If only they had done better. They had stretched themselves so thin, desperate to save as many of their loved ones as possible, and yet it hadn’t been enough to reach their sibling.

And now, Ghost would never know if such an outcome for this forgotten vessel would have ever come to pass.


	11. Day 11: Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cracked mask was never a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhhhhhh sIB L I NG S

They were running low on medical supplies, Hornet noticed as she fished through the first aid kit. Many of the containers of salves and disinfectants were either empty or about to be, and the only roll of bandages she had left was on its last legs. Thankfully she was almost done, so her sibling’s care wouldn't have to be interrupted by an impromptu shopping trip.

Despite her back aching from being hunched over for so long, she moved onto her final target. Hollow’s mask was chipped and stained in every which way, but her main concern was the massive crack stretching over her sibling’s right eye socket. The jagged edges had been filed down by age over the past several years, to the point where it would be next to impossible to put it entirely back together. They would most likely be blind there too, she lamented. The crack was certainly significant enough to cause such damage. It was a wonder their mask was still being held together, really.

“Let me know if I cause pain,” Hornet reminded them, as she always did. Hollow never responded to it- they didn’t respond to many things- but maybe someday they wouldn’t be afraid to.

She tediously cleaned the wound, ensuring none of the disinfectant would drip into the sensitive Void underneath their mask, blinking back exhaustion until her eyes watered. There would be plenty of time to sleep after she was done treating Hollow, although she knew deep down that she wouldn’t be getting much rest tonight, if any at all.

“Ghost,” Hornet spoke up. Her other sibling snapped to attention, although they still continued to stroke Hollow’s horn in a comforting manner. “Bandages, please.”

Ghost tossed her the roll and she pulled off the remains, wrapping it around the massive crack with as much care as she could muster. It was so hard to find the balance between tight and painful, loose and ineffective. Hollow still didn’t respond to her efforts, but she knew that this was definitely hurting them if they happened to be awake for it.

“I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do for your eye,” she murmured to them. “You will become used to it eventually, but until then it won’t be a fun experience.”

Hornet tucked in the end of the bandage until it was secure, then leaned back to examine her efforts. Not seeing anything too glaringly exposed, she stood, ignoring the pinch in her spine as she did so, and felt for her needle.

“I am going to go hunt for when they wake,” she announced to Ghost. “Will you watch them until I return?”

Ghost nodded, uncharacteristically solemn.

“Thank you.” Hornet lay a hand on Hollow’s mask, steering clear of any injuries, and gently traced it with a thumb. “I will return soon,” she whispered.

She headed towards Greenpath, silently praying that all of this grief and effort would not be for nothing.

—

“Ghost, _hold still!”_

A cold hand pressed against Hornet’s face, trying to shove her away, but she refused to loosen her grip in the slightest. It was proving difficult, however, with Ghost hellbent on freeing themselves. The little vessel was stronger than they looked and might as well have been an aspiring escape artist with all the tricks they pulled.

She attempted to pin their arms to their sides with her silk, grunting with effort. “Ghost of Hallownest, stop this behavior at once. I am only trying to-“ She groaned in frustration as Ghost nearly wriggled out of her arms _again,_ hastening to snatch them back. “You are accomplishing nothing with such resistance, I hope you understand that!”

Ghost kicked out with their stubby legs, not intending to harm her in the slightest, but it was enough to make her readjust her hold on them for the dozenth time. This wasn’t working. “Hollow!” Hornet called in the direction of the bedrooms. “I need your assistance!”

Hollow emerged within seconds, alarmed, but that quickly was replaced by confusion as they walked up to the scene. They took in the discarded maps and charms scattered on the kitchen floor, the opened first aid kit on the counter, and their two siblings locked in a violent scuffle in the middle of the room.

Hornet could see the amusement brimming in their eye sockets and glowered at them. “They cracked their mask. Please restrain them while I examine it, if you will.”

Hollow nodded obediently. They crossed the room in three massive strides and plucked Ghost from Hornet’s grasp. The smaller vessel tried to make a break for it, but Hollow sat down on the floor and folded themselves over, effectively trapping Ghost in place with their body.

“Thank you,” Hornet acknowledged, slightly out of breath from the struggle. She reached for the roll of bandages and unraveled it, snipping off a small section.

Ghost, after accepting their fate, had fallen into immeasurable despair. They flopped limply in Hollow’s grasp like a dead aspid, arms dangling and head slumped forward. Hornet regarded them, unamused. “May I see your mask now?” she asked.

Ghost gave no indication that they had heard, so Hollow placed a finger under their chin and tilted their head upwards so that their face was visible. There wasn’t a single ounce of resistance seen during the entire interaction.

“Thank you, Hollow,” Hornet sighed, though it was impossible to be truly annoyed with either of her siblings.

The crack was smaller than she had expected, stretching maybe a third of the way up Ghost’s mask, but knowing their track record, it would most certainly get worse over time if not treated right away. Hornet gently applied the bandage over the crack, using her silk so that it would stick instead of having to wrap it around their entire head.

“There,” she announced once she had finished. “Honestly, little Ghost, where do you get your theatrics from? Such a minor injury hardly called for the fight you decided to start.”

Upon being released by Hollow, Ghost slowly tumbled from their sibling’s arm and slid along the floor. They flipped over so they were lying on their back, and their hands reached out for her expectantly. Oh, so _now_ they wanted to be cared for? Hornet sighed again, yet leaned over to pick them up despite her better judgement. She supposed it was better than them frolicking through the depths of Hallownest and worsening their injury.

“So dramatic, honestly,” she trailed off, awkwardly shifting her hold on Ghost so they could wrap their arms around her neck. “I expect none of this nonsense when we take it off, correct?”

Ghost shrugged. No promises.

—

Hollow looked horrified, leaning in closely until their masks were almost touching to scrutinize her. Hornet shied away from their gaze, hoping to hide the injury from sight, but they gently grabbed her face and turned it so they could see exactly where the shell had splintered.

“It is nothing to be concerned about,” she tried to reassure them, and attempted to slip around them to enter the kitchen. Hollow refused to relent, standing in the dead center of the hallway to block her escape. “Please move aside, Hollow, I have work to do.”

Hollow shook their head frantically, pointing at their own fractured mask for emphasis.

“Yes, I _know_ it’s damaged,” Hornet asserted. “But it is nothing serious. It will heal on its own soon.” It was true; the crack throbbed rather painfully, but it certainly wouldn’t kill her and would be gone in a couple of weeks. She’d endured much worse than this and had turned out just fine. “Hollow, move.”

Instead of obeying her like they always did, Hollow wordlessly made a grab for the back of her cloak. Too surprised for her reflexes to act quickly enough, Hornet yelped in alarm as she was tucked underneath Hollow’s arm and carried into the kitchen, where they sat down on a chair at the table with her in tow.

Hornet pried at the arm around her torso, hoping to free herself, but found she couldn’t get it to budge in the slightest. With physical leverage out the window, she had to resort to verbal leverage instead. “Hollow, put me down or so help me-“ 

She heard a familiar pitter-pattering before Ghost entered the kitchen, bearing the most glaringly-obvious smug expression she had ever seen on them before. In their hands was the infamous roll of bandages, and they pulled taut on the end to show it off.

“Put those down,” Hornet ordered, trying to regain some semblance of control amongst the pounding in her skull. “We need to reserve them for emergencies only.”

Ghost gave her a _look,_ and they tucked the bandages under their arm to free their hands. Quirrel had recently been teaching them basic sign language in his free time, and though neither vessel knew anything more than the alphabet, they used it on the rare occasion they needed to communicate complex thoughts. Hornet watched as Ghost slowly signed out a word, movements clear and deliberate.

_“Hypocrite.”_

Hollow let out a quiet wheeze despite themselves, joining Hornet’s dumbfounded spluttering. The audacity, the absolute _audacity-_

The realization that she was not winning this fight sank in, draining her morale to practically nothing. Hornet slackened her arms, begrudgingly allowing the feeling of defeat to flood her senses. “Fine,” she gave in. “But I do not agree with this.”

She felt Hollow’s tense form relax in relief against her own, and watched Ghost rip off a large piece of bandage with fiery determination. They clambered up to her eye level and began to carefully wrap the injury in layers of the fabric-like material, all while Hollow held her as still as possible. Ghost being this gentle and considerate with anything was rare, and she was surprised something as trivial as her mask cracking a little was what warranted it, though she would admit it was easing some of the throbbing.

Ghost cut the bandage off and tied the ends into a small bow with a flourish. They stepped back, dusting off their hands and looking pleased with themselves. Hollow craned their neck to inspect their sibling’s handiwork and promptly nodded in approval.

Hornet rolled her eyes fondly, sliding out of Hollow’s grasp. “When did you two become so stubborn?” she asked, half to herself.

Hollow bumped their mask against the uninjured side of hers, gesturing to the new bandage. The worry in their eyes was clear.

“I know, I know,” she reassured. “I’ll be more careful.”


	12. Day 12: Gloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The City of Tears was one of the most intriguing places he’d ever visited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cornifer and Iselda are underrated don’t @ me

The constant sound of rain tapped against the roof above, turning the harsh sound of water hitting stone into something more serene. More rain trickled down the massive window in rivulets, distorting the view from the bench- not that much could be seen amongst the blur of the skyline.

Cornifer’s quill scratched against the parchment with aged practice as he hummed to himself, his own voice just barely heard above the rain. It was a wonder the paper was still dry; his first few charts of the area had been soaked by the constant downpour, including the one he had sold to Ghost all that time ago. He briefly wondered if the little one would stop by. They still wandered Hallownest sometimes and always stopped by for a chat if they happened to spot him. Well, they didn’t really “chat” per se, but Cornifer enjoyed the company nonetheless.

He finished the new section of the map and proofread it for any mistakes. Before he went down the well, Ghost had shown him all the secret tunnels and paths they had discovered, including a massive stag station on the other side of the City of Tears, built to perfectly mirror the Queen’s Station he himself had visited a few days ago.

It had been exhilarating and beautiful in the most haunting way. To think, such a grand city was now decaying underneath the surface, its intricate architecture once housing hundreds upon hundreds of bugs, now hiding nothing but empty corpses within their walls. The Infection’s presence no longer lurked in the streets, but the sheer gloomy emptiness had only been magnified even more in its absence. To his knowledge, Cornifer was the only living bug left in the city, and it was so easy to feel that isolation.

He briefly put down his quill, feeling rather peckish after a long morning of mapping. Iselda had made a batch of stew before the sun rose and packed it for him before he left. It was still warm, and had a note stuck to it pleading for him to be careful (Hallownest was still dangerous even without the Infection’s presence, as he had learned the hard way), written in his wife’s signature scrawl. He smiled at the little heart she had put next to his name.

Though Cornifer’s passion for mapmaking always improved his mood, it was hard to not feel lonely sometimes, especially here, where the gloom of the city pervaded his very soul. It had only been a week or so, but he did miss Iselda dearly. It had been wonderful to spend time with her in Dirtmouth for a few weeks, but eventually his muse had called and she insisted that he not ignore it.

Iselda often mentioned how happy she was to live a more domesticated life with him, but sometimes Cornifer couldn’t help but wonder if she missed adventuring. Though she had a talent for making pins, retail had never been a hobby of hers. Surely it had to get boring in the shop sometimes; Cornifer knew how insufferable being cooped up in a house could be. He wondered if she would appreciate the City of Tears as much as he did, with its daunting architecture and endless rain. No doubt the gloom would seem much less suffocating with her there to dispel the loneliness it brought.

Iselda had always declined his invitations for her to accompany him, and Cornifer really did not want to be too insistent. But he would never stop asking in hope that one day she would accept, even if it was only for a short trip. They’d been wanting to spend more time together, and what better way to do it than on the road? He would definitely not keep her away from Dirtmouth for long, but a week of just the two of them delving into caverns and wandering Hallownest tunnels, of simply having the presence of his wife there alongside his life’s work…

What a wonderful thought, he reflected, taking a bite of stew.

As he finished eating, the map stared at him, still only partially filled. An unfinished hallway practically jumped off the page: an entrance to an entire subsection of the city Cornifer hadn’t discovered yet, dubbed “the Soul Sanctum” by Ghost. The title alone was alluring, and better yet, supposedly it was full of winding hallways littered with bits of lore and gothic influence. Additionally, Ghost had warned of the dangers within: remains of failed Soul experiments, strange machinery, spiked roofs, and the ever-present threat of losing all sense of direction.

Perhaps, Cornifer pondered, this was enough to warrant a certain someone to join him for his next excursion.

He abruptly stood and gathered his scattered rolls of parchment, taking a moment to locate the nearest stag station. Normally he refused to leave an area until it was entirely charted, but he could make an exception today.

—

The constant sound of rain tapped against the roof above, turning the harsh sound of water hitting stone into something more serene. More rain trickled down the massive window in rivulets, distorting the view from the bench- not that much could be seen amongst the blur of the skyline.

Cornifer’s quill was still and silent, resting against the parchment. Its owner stood at the window, watching the rain glimmer against the faint light of lanterns as it fell to the earth. 

Movement came from Cornifer’s left, and the new presence washed away the haunting gloom of the city as if it was water itself, leaving behind stone statues and towering buildings that, even if temporary, were now a little less lonely. Iselda’s voice cut through the pattering of rain, sounding just as lovely. Her eyes were large, taking in everything at once, and a hand lay against the glass as if she could touch the droplets while they slid by.

Solitary mapmaking would surely become a pain to readjust to by the end of the trip, but as far as Cornifer knew, it was already entirely worth the trouble. 

“It really is endless,” Iselda commented, watching the water drip down the window pane.

“In all my years, I’ve never seen such a thing,” Cornifer responded idly. “I do hope you like it as well.”

Her gaze was brimming with warmth as she smiled at him. “It’s wonderful. Thank you for bringing me.”

The city had never looked more beautiful than when she stared at it. “Hallownest is full of little marvels like this. If time permits, would you like to see more?”

“If you’ll have me.”

“You know I always will, darling. How does Kingdom’s Edge sound for next time?”

Iselda chuckled, leaning over to embrace him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It sounds perfect.”


	13. Day 13: Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quirrel looks after the vessels for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *aggressively throws fluff from a distance*

“Once we reach the end here, it is very important that we do not bruise or break any of the stems, lest it fall apart. We continue the braiding like so. See here?” Quirrel held out the circlet, allowing his audience to closely inspect his handiwork.

“All that is left is to simply tuck these stems away.” He did so, hiding them underneath the various petals so they wouldn’t stick out. “And there we are!”

The flower crown was rather simple, formed from tiny daisies and baby blue hydrangeas picked from the meadow they were gathered in. Quirrel’s dexterity was not what it used to be, leading to a few bent petals and other imperfections, but Ghost clapped ecstatically regardless, both them and Hollow leaning in closer to admire it.

“Admittedly I am a little rusty at such a craft,” he commented, “but I am personally glad I remembered it at all.” He held out the crown in offering. “You can have this one, Hollow, if you so desire.”

The tall vessel stared at him, as if to gauge whether or not he was serious, then inclined their head forward to accept it. Quirrel scooted closer, wary of their blind side, and looped the crown over their head until it rested around the base of their horns.

Ghost hopped in place, showing their approval, and Quirrel nodded alongside them. “I agree, my short friend! That particular blue is most certainly their color.”

Hollow pointedly looked away, curling in on themselves ever-so-slightly with what looked like bashfulness.

As expected, Ghost wanted a flower crown as well, and they raced around the meadow until they picked all the blooms they took a liking too. Quirrel allowed them to help with the weaving, guiding their hands as they carefully braided the stems. He offered to let Hollow assist as well, but they seemed nervous at the prospect of ruining it and instead watched with interest. 

After a few minutes, the crown, composed of sprigs of lavender and pale purple orchids, was placed on Ghost’s head. They practically vibrated with happiness, immediately whipping around to show it off to Hollow. The siblings spent some time comparing colors and shapes of petals, and then grabbed samples of flowers to test combinations, as if they were already planning the production of more crowns.

Quirrel smiled. It was endearing, watching them get so genuinely excited over something considered trivial.  
Such a thing was rare nowadays. His smile faded a little, spotting a figure sharpening her nail at the edge of the clearing. Whether Hornet kept her distance out of a desire to not interrupt or her own aloofness, he was unsure, but he already had an idea on how to remedy that.

“Perhaps your sister would appreciate one as well,” he suggested offhandedly, grabbing the attention of his two companions. They looked at each other, a brief moment of silence passing between them, and then they simultaneously scrambled to sort through patches and patches of endless flowers.

Ghost and Hollow eventually decided on deep red gladioli, with blooms of pink hibiscus for contrast, and set to work. Quirrel hung back this time, only supervising until needed, but it didn’t seem like it would be necessary. Ghost had gotten hang of the weaving rather quickly, despite using flowers that were on the more delicate side.

Ghost allowed Hollow to take over for a bit at one point, persisting when they refused at first. Hollow seemed a little apprehensive, their hand unsteady as they gently pinched one of the stems. Ghost held the crown as still as they could manage, holding it up encouragingly, and the larger vessel was able to successfully cross over the stems a few times with decent results.

As the siblings put the final touches on the crown, the almost nonexistent sound of someone approaching alerted them. Quirrel looked back to see a familiar red cloak and waved. “Hello!” he greeted. “We were wondering where you had gone off to.”

Hornet nodded politely, needle swinging on her back. “Apologies for the delay, some of the traps I have set are-“ She stopped in her tracks, staring at the group with slight confusion. “...What are you two wearing?”

Ghost proudly pointed up to their flower crown. Half of it had fallen over the face, making it lopsided, but they didn’t seem to care much.

“A most interesting composition of flora,” Quirrel answered. “Come join us, my friend! You deserve a rest as much as we do.” He intentionally gave her little room to decline, knowing how stingy she was about her own leisure.

Hornet didn’t move an inch at first, visibly weighing her options, but the pleading, innocent looks from both of her siblings were what caused her to relent. She sat in the grass, needle propped up against her leg, and immediately Ghost was climbing into her lap, placing the flower crown on her head. “Wh-“

Quirrel stifled a laugh as Hollow reached over to adjust the circlet, adding to the mild chaos. “They’ve been quite excited to give that to you.”

“So I see.” Once her siblings backed off, Hornet reached up to gently brush her fingers across one of the gladioli. “You two made this yourselves?”

Both vessels nodded eagerly.

Hornet hummed to herself, her shoulders relaxing as a softer expression passed by her mask. “It is a very nicely-crafted piece. Thank you both; you did well.”

Ghost puffed out their chest with pride, hands on their hips; meanwhile, Hollow bumped their mask against Hornet’s, careful as to not jostle the flowers. Hornet accepted, and her attention was diverted to the crown of daisies and hydrangeas on their head, commenting on how they looked nice. Hollow ducked away again, playfully swiping at Hornet’s quiet laughter and Ghost’s silent giggling. It was so easy to think of them as a trio of siblings here, ones who had not been separated by tragedy and had simply lived together all their lives, able to read each other down to the tiniest of thoughts. Quirrel was happy he was around to witness it.

“Well, since we are all in the spirit of gardening this morning…” Hornet’s gaze slid over to the scholar without warning. “Quirrel, would you like one as well?”

“I-“ Quirrel didn’t even get a chance to answer before Ghost leapt to their feet immediately, brandishing a handful of plucked daffodils. Hollow did the same with a few light yellow peonies, and though their reaction was significantly calmer, it felt as though they had been waiting with bated breath for the question to come up.

Hornet managed a small grin, taking the bouquets from her siblings and beginning to sort through them. “I suppose it’s settled then. I hope yellow is satisfactory.”

Quirrel chuckled. “It sounds lovely. I hear it brings out my eyes quite well.”


	14. Day 14: Tranquil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hollow takes a brief moment to reflect in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory sibling cuddle pile let’s go bois

The room was dim, but not dark. The silken hammock looked silvery in the faint light of the lumafly lamps outside, bright enough for them to see the opposite wall, but not blinding. The pale glow morphed into a faint crimson towards the head of the hammock; the source came from Grimmchild, who was dangling upside-down by their tail, wings tightly folded around them.

Hollow watched the wispy curtains float around, disturbed by the faint wind coming through the window. It whistled sometimes, a nice reassurance that there was a living, breathing world outside of the house, one that they weren’t locked away from this time. There were no chains suspending them in the air; there was only the gentle, unrestrictive swaying of the hammock. They had the choice to get up and leave, if they wanted to, but why would they? As far as they were concerned, they could stay in this exact spot for a long time.

Hornet’s room had always been a safe haven, despite the copious amounts of spiderwebs and silk that dangled from the ceiling. Back when Hollow and Ghost’s nightmares had been much more frequent (the latter usually tried to deny it, but Hollow knew that paranoia when they saw it), Hornet had graciously allowed the two to seek solace in her room if they ever needed it. It had always brought Hollow a lot of comfort, the feeling of a familiar presence or two nearby to help ward some of those memories away. That, and the fact that her hammock was actually quite cozy once they had gotten used to it.

The bad dreams had somewhat faded from existence nowadays, but it had become tradition to hole up in the bedroom for a variety of purposes. Sometimes it was out of loneliness, or if the shadows looming on the walls looked a little too familiar, or if they wanted to make sure their sister was actually getting the sleep she needed, but most of the time there was no real reason for it. Not that Hollow minded in the slightest; they always sprang at the opportunity to spend time with the siblings, even if it was only their presences keeping the vessel company.

Movement from somewhere within the hammock caused Hollow’s head to snap over. Ghost, who was sprawled across their chest like a pet mosscreep, buried up to their horns in blankets, shifted to find a more comfortable spot. Their hands found Hollow’s cloak, sleepily kneading it to their liking, and then they settled down again as if nothing had happened. Sometimes they twitched, nuzzling their sibling or grasping at an invisible nail, but otherwise they were completely still.

To be trusted enough to fall asleep on was such a wonderful feeling, Hollow mused, patting the space between Ghost’s horns.

Grimmchild suddenly let out a tired squawk as they dreamed, wings rustling, and immediately Hornet stirred at the noise. Hollow froze, their entire body going as still as they could manage. She was already such a light sleeper and it had taken both them and Ghost ages just to get her to go to bed, let alone coax her into actually falling asleep. They would never forgive themselves if their movements roused her now.

Miraculously, Hornet did not wake, instead nestling her mask into the crook of their neck, letting out a quiet sigh that almost sounded like a purr if one listened closely enough. Her breaths evened out, and Hollow relaxed in relief. Crisis averted.

They basked in the quiet tranquility of the bedroom, not willing to fall asleep just yet. They knew they would likely get a light scolding for it from Hornet in the morning, but right now they didn’t mind. Now that they were _allowed_ to feel at peace and enjoy the company of their family, they were absolutely going to take advantage of it.

Never did Hollow think they would ever be able enjoy such things. As the Hollow Knight, they had been expected to not feel, to not think, to not even acknowledge the existence of anything outside of the orders they were given. And after the Radiance’s defeat, they had expected to be thrown out, whether it be for their failure as a vessel or for being a constant drain on their siblings’ medical supplies. Hollow had considered it to be the logical decision at the time; they had failed, they were broken, so it made sense that they would be discarded for it.

But no, Ghost and Hornet had _kept_ them, even after the endless amounts of trouble they had brought, accepting Hollow into their home with no questions asked. To this day, Hollow still could not wrap their head around such boundless kindness, and doubted they ever would be able to, but words could not describe how much they appreciated it nonetheless.

Hollow wanted nothing more than to give that same feeling of comfort and safety that they had received during all of those long weeks of recovery. It was incredible, having someone to lean on for support whenever necessary. Being that someone for either of them was bound to be even better.

Perhaps that was why Hollow remained awake and alert in the tranquil hours of the night, scanning for any signs of distress among their siblings. They both looked so _defenseless_ like this, susceptible to both outside intruders and whatever thoughts that plagued them in their slumber. If something happened to them- no, Hollow interrupted themselves, curling slightly around Ghost and Hornet on instinct. They would sooner dismantle entire kingdoms before allowing anything to cause harm to their family.

...Well, Hollow knew that goal was rather unrealistic while they were in their still-healing state. As much as they would gladly try to follow through with that threat, they couldn’t exactly protect their siblings if they were dead.

But watching over them, making sure their rest went uninterrupted: Hollow would settle with this, for now.


	15. Day 15: Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one was trustworthy in Hallownest, and this bug was no exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re halfway there boissssss

Not many unfamiliar faces traveled to Hallownest, and those who did came for the wrong reasons. The long-dead kingdom did not attract curious pilgrims and scholars like it did in its prime, but instead graverobbers, thieves, and other delinquents that sought to desecrate what little remained.

As protector of Hallownest, Hornet had become accustomed to striking down many of said intruders. She did so with little to no remorse; she had no reason to regret it, not when they had arrived specifically to ruin every last bit of the kingdom that was left. Very few of them put up a decent fight, and none survived. 

This particular bug was about her height and on the chubbier side, with a cracked blue-gray carapace. Curiously, he bore no travel gear or possessions of any kind, save for his weapon and a second mask curiously resting along the top of his head. He waved at her from his position at the bottom of the cliff, greeting her with a light, lilting voice. A lifetime ago, Hornet would have dared to deem him as harmless, maybe even friendly, but the way he held his nail stated otherwise. Such naive assumptions were useless now; there was no one friendly left in Hallownest, no matter their appearance. 

She struck swift and lethal, intending on cutting this bug down where he stood, but a sudden blast of magic sent her flying backwards. She scrambled to regain her footing, dazed, just in time to see the markings of a protection spell fading from the surface of his second mask. She did a double-take, shocked she hadn’t recognized it before. This simple bug was wearing the Teacher’s mask.

Hornet left quickly after the encounter, head spinning. It was no coincidence that a wielder of a Dreamer mask had shown up now, only a short time after the Infection escaped the Egg and poisoned the air. He had arrived to assist in breaking the Seals. A new vessel was to be chosen.

Hornet had prepared for this time to come to pass. She had dealt with a few straggling vessels that had somehow climbed out of the Abyss: a test of resolve, in case they sought to replace their sibling. There was no room for error now, and the next vessel to approach her would face the same rigor, if not increased tenfold.

She heard the traveler climbing up the cliffside, struggling slightly, and her eyes hardened. Whether or not this bug carried the Teacher’s mask, he was still an enemy. There were no friends in Hallownest; that luxury had vanished long ago. If he was here to tarnish the kingdom in his wake, then she would not hesitate to kill, or at least hinder him. She would just have to find more indirect ways of doing so.

While patrolling the kingdom, Hornet caught sight of the stranger from time to time. He was a wanderer, stopping at various ancient structures and patches of flora to study them for hours on end. She had half-expected him to immediately head towards the Archives, and yet there was no real rhyme or reason as to where he walked. She didn’t know what he was waiting for, but it put her on edge all the same.

The small vessel that had beaten her test of resolve in Greenpath had apparently taken a liking to him. Hornet caught a glimpse of the two of them sitting on a bench together in the City of Tears. The mask wielder was casually chatting away despite his companion not being capable of speaking, but what intrigued her was that the vessel was resting against his taller stature, listening intently. They both were casual and relaxed, as if nothing was wrong, as if they had known each other for years, as if they weren’t naturally enemies as a result of the savage ways of Hallownest.

So they were both fools, then.

The Ghost of Hallownest continued onward, beating her at a rematch in Kingdom’s Edge and breaking the first Seal. This was really it, then, Hornet thought to herself, her grip on her needle tightening. This vessel was going to replace their sibling in the Temple, and she had to ensure that the pieces fell into place smoothly. She remained strong, keeping an extra careful eye on the borders of the kingdom and the Wastes beyond. Nothing was going to interrupt the vessel now. She was here to make sure of that.

She had a brief moment of weakness at her mother’s now-empty plinth, wishing the cold hostility was not all that was left of Hallownest, but she locked it away as quickly as it appeared. It would do her no good to mourn now.

Hornet did not see much of the wanderer afterwards, only a few mere glimpses of his dark blue carapace here and there. The next time she spotted him clearly was at the Blue Lake. He was sitting alone on the shore, his nail stuck into the driftwood beside him and the Teacher’s mask absent from his head. The final Seal had been broken.

The bug’s eyes were tired, suddenly lined with an age she hadn’t noticed until just then. His plummeted mood was all-too obvious. Why did he remain here, in this corpse of a kingdom, if his purpose had been fulfilled? Perhaps he had nothing else left. He carried nothing but his nail; there were no connections to a family or another kingdom, no prepared satchel of supplies to indicate a planned trip, nothing. He was truly a wanderer, with no other purpose. 

For a split second, a small pang of sympathy thrummed in her heartstrings, but it was immediately stuffed away. No, there was no reason for such things in Hallownest, where the slightest ounce of empathy could be her downfall. She couldn’t afford to lose herself to weakness now. This bug was still her enemy.

Hornet slipped away, as if she had never been there to begin with.

Many things happened after that. Hornet had met up with the vessel at the Black Egg Temple, they had fought the Hollow Knight, she had sailed in ready to...well, her memory was rather fuzzy after that, but she remembered waking up in what used to be the Temple, both vessels lying prone beside her. The air felt clearer, and the throbbing pustules of Infection surrounding the Temple had magically deflated into harmless brown goo.

For the next several weeks, Hornet dedicated almost all of her time to treating the Hollow Knight (nicknamed Hollow out of both convenience and endearment). The smaller vessel, who requested to be called Ghost, helped her smuggle Hollow into a house at the town on the surface, where she spent dozens of hours changing bandages and cleaning wounds. She was grateful that Ghost had been so secretive when transporting them all into Dirtmouth. The idea of bugs so close by knowing where she and her siblings lived made her nervous, especially with Hollow ailing like they were. She didn’t know the intentions of the other citizens, and she wanted to keep it that way.

So it was quite a shock when Ghost returned to the house one day with a companion in tow, and let them inside without a second thought.

Upon hearing the unfamiliar footsteps, Hornet dropped the disinfectant and made a grab for her needle. “Ghost, who is with you?” she hissed accusingly.

Ghost held up their hands in a placating gesture, performing a series of complicated charades that she couldn’t follow.

“I cannot understand you,” Hornet sighed, shaking her head. “You should not bring bugs into our shelter, especially with our sibling in such poor health. We are not aware of their intentions-“

In that moment, the new arrival suddenly entered the room, a fabric bag banging against his hip. With a jolt of alarm, Hornet instantly recognized the dark blue carapace, the calm white mask, the navy bandanna tied around his head, and pointed her weapon directly at the doorway he was standing in.

The former mask wielder stopped in his tracks, his eyes falling on Hornet, then on the needle angled threateningly at him, and then back up to her, blinking in recognition, then bewilderment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OwO is this a two-parter??????? Yes I think so!!!!!


	16. Day 16: Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe this particular bug was an exception after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww yeaahhhhh 3AM writing boissss

For a tense moment, the two bugs were at an impasse. Hornet’s needle glinted, inches from the wandering bug, who looked mildly surprised, but wasn’t fearful in the way many were when Hornet jabbed her weapon in their faces.

Ghost inserted themselves into the standoff, looking between the two in observance. They gently grabbed the tip of Hornet’s needle and pulled it down until it was pointing at the floor, and she would have resisted if not for the risk of harming her sibling. She did, however, narrow her eyes at the action. “What are you doing? Who is this?”

The former mask-wielding bug cleared his throat, appearing much more comfortable now that he wasn’t being threatened at needlepoint. “And so we meet again, and in somewhat more preferable circumstances!” He exclaimed, putting his hands on his hips.

Ghost whipped around to stare at their friend in shock, head tilted curiously, and he chuckled. “Why yes, my short friend; we have met before! Though, it was quite brief.” He glanced up at Hornet again. “I hope life has been kind since then.”

Hornet furrowed her brow, almost readying her needle again. This bug was acting strangely friendly and she honestly wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. “...Ghost, what is the meaning of this?”

The wanderer blinked. “Ah, I understand. Well, I heard from the little one that they had taken up residence here with their family recently, so I took it upon myself to search for a...housewarming gift, if you will.” He rubbed the back of his neck, having the decency to look sheepish. “My apologies, I was under the impression that they had discussed this with you.”

“They most certainly did not,” Hornet responded pointedly, shooting Ghost an accusatory glare. In response, her sibling threw their arms around the bug’s torso in a protective hug, giving Hornet the largest, most tear-filled eyes they could physically manage.

She released a long, dreary sigh, knowing that she would most likely regret this. “Fine, but not long. I have work to do.”

Ghost’s tears immediately tried, and they hopped up and down victoriously.

The stranger perked up at that. “If you insist. But I will not be long, don’t worry! I come merely to give gifts.” He unslung the fabric satchel from his shoulder and fiddled with the clasp on the front.

Hornet eyed the bag warily, although she would be lying if she said she wasn’t at least a little intrigued. “And what exactly have you brought?”

He pulled out a small metal tin, brimming with excitement. “During my travels, I discovered a long-hidden stash of some of the finest tea leaves I’ve seen in Hallownest. There were too many for me alone, so it was only fair for me to bring some to share.”

Despite her better judgement, Hornet leaned in ever-so-slightly to inspect the box. She hadn’t had tea in years, and this particular brand looked to be rather expensive, judging by its faded label.

“Would you two like a cup? I’ve brought a kettle if you don’t have one at your disposal,” the bug offered, pulling several more tins out of the bag and stacking them on the table.

Ghost nodded their head vigorously, but Hornet was more hesitant. This bug had entered her home and then proceeded to not only give them free tea, but went as far as to offer to make a pot for them too. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out what his motive was. Was this some sort of elaborate robbery scheme? To strike when she was most vulnerable? The out-of-place kindness sent in her direction certainly made her think so.

She realized that the only way she could figure out his plans was to go along with them. In any scenario, if he tried anything, she could easily skewer him with her needle. “Alright,” she acquiesced.

The bug approached the counter, filling the kettle with water and placing it on the stove. As it heated, Hornet sneakily swiped the nearest box of tea leaves to inspect it. It didn’t look to be tampered with, and the faint scent it carried was pleasant, but she was still a little unsure.

Eventually, Ghost got bored of waiting and asked her if they could check on Hollow. Upon their departure, the wanderer turned to Hornet with a question already forming about where they’d gone, but she quickly shut him down with a warning glare. She was most certainly not letting this stranger anywhere _near_ Hollow.

It was only Hornet and the unfamiliar bug in the kitchen now. She stood a few paces away from him, making sure he didn’t do anything suspicious while the water was boiling. He didn’t seem to mind how much she stared at him in such an untrusting manner; however, and instead used it as an invitation to try and strike up conversation.

“I noticed you referred to the little one as ‘Ghost’,” he remarked. “Is that their name? They aren’t one for words, and I never got the opportunity to ask on paper.”

Hornet jolted, realizing he was talking to her. “...Yes, they’ve taken up the name recently.”

The wanderer nodded. “Excellent! Admittedly, I’d been getting a little tired of referring to them as ‘short’ or ‘little’. I do not think they like that very much.” His laugh trailed off, fading into nothing.

An awkward silence hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken thoughts. Hornet was painfully aware of her lack of skill in the social department. It had been a very, very long time since she’d had a casual conversation with a bug that could actually talk back to her.

The kettle suddenly whistled, and she flinched, nearly hurling her needle straight at the stove on instinct. The wanderer jumped slightly at her reaction. 

“Gods above!” He hastily recovered, appearing rather embarrassed by his outburst, and regarded her closely with concern filling his gaze. “You seem to be quite stressed, friend. Are you alright?”

Why on earth was this bug calling her a friend? Hornet’s mind spun, about to reach its limit. He had to be planning something, surely, after putting so much effort into acting kind enough to whittle down her defenses. Her siblings were both in the house and she had to protect them, but from _what_ she had no idea. Either she had to guess, or she would have to call him out. The latter was somewhat more foolproof.

Abruptly, she straightened her posture, eyeing the enemy (and yes, he was one, for in Hallownest, if one was not a close friend, then they were not to ever be trusted by default). “Tell me, simple bug,” she demanded. “What is your goal here?

The former mask-wielder was taken aback by her sudden sternness. “Goal for what?”

“For this visit, obviously.”.

“Besides the tea, nothing at all.”

“Surely there is something that you will gain by coming here.” Hornet brought her needle up, once again pointing it at him menacingly. “If you wish to pillage, then know that we have next to nothing of value.”

To his credit, the bug remained calm, hands remaining stoically on the counter. “Believe me, I could never be morally capable of such a thing.”

“Then what is your reason?”

“Do I need one?”

“No bug is kind in Hallownest without a selfish reason to be so.”

The wanderer, to her surprise, visibly saddened at that. “The Infection has truly left nothing sacred, then,” he murmured.

“And what does that mean?”

“I only show basic kindness, my friend, something that does not need any sort of ulterior motive. It seems as though the savagery of Hallownest has tarnished such an idea.”

Hornet’s eyes narrowed, yet she couldn’t help but let the tip of her needle fall just slightly.

“I promise you that I have no intentions of harming you or your siblings in any way. My kindness comes from a place of endearment, not of evil.” The wanderer raised his hands, showing empty palms to her. “I did not bring my nail, see? I am not here to cause harm.” He suddenly reached over for her unoccupied hand, and she briefly stiffened, preparing for a fight on pure instinct. But the touch was gentle and friendly, merely a soft pat on her hand before he pulled away just as quickly. 

Was that all, then? Was it really that simple? Surely not. He looked so strangely genuine, to the point where it really should not be so difficult to understand his point, and yet it _was._ Was it really so out of the ordinary to expect the worst out of anyone who showed the slightest bit of kindness?

Hornet swallowed, allowing her needle to drop to her side. Regardless, she should not have lost her temper like that. “Though I understand if forgiveness is not possible, I apologize deeply for my accusations. My feelings on the matter got the better of me.”

The other bug grinned brightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did so. “No harm done, my friend! You are not to blame for only being cautious.” He paused suddenly, as if debating something. “Well, since we had originally begun on the wrong foot anyway, I say that we start over. A clean slate for the both of us.” He stuck out his hand, intending for her to shake it. “I’m Quirrel.”

Slowly, she steeled herself to keep from hesitating and reached out to accept the handshake. “Hornet.”

Quirrel’s eyes lit up. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Hornet.” He glanced offhandedly at the teapot. “It seems as though the tea is done steeping. Would you still care for a cup?”

“If there is enough for three.” Shaking off her feelings, Hornet craned her neck to call down the hallway to her sibling. “Ghost, the tea is ready.”

By the time Ghost came careening into the kitchen, Quirrel was dividing the tea into three equal cups. It smelled delightful, giving off a feeling of nostalgia Hornet didn’t know existed in her memory.

“It’s chamomile,” Quirrel remarked. “Supposedly it’s a calming herb. Something that I believe you need,” he added, shooting a knowing smile at Hornet as he passed her a teacup.

“Definitely,” she agreed.

Quirrel raised his own cup. “Cheers, to good health.” 

Hornet and Ghost joined him, the sound of clinking porcelain ringing across the kitchen. Perhaps, Hornet thought to herself, taking a sip and relishing the long-forgotten taste of chamomile, this wandering, mask-wielding bug was not the enemy she had once believed him to be.


	17. Day 17: Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beating all five Pantheons was proving to be more of a challenge than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Local child attempts to beat Godmaster DLC, 2020

The Hall of Gods was an imposing place, with its darkened halls and looming architecture. The only light came from the several spotlights that lit up whenever someone walked past, illuminating the statues positioned underneath them. Gods of duty, knowledge, anger, faith, deception, and everything in between lined the walls in their stone-cold glory.

But none of that mattered, because right now Ghost was more than ready to burn it all to the ground.

Fuming, they hurled their nail with so much force that it stuck into the floor a short distance away. Fists clenched, they shot a nasty death glare at the small statue they had recently spawned in front of, as if hoping their stare alone would vaporize it out of existence.

Why, oh _why_ did Sly have to be a Nailsage?

And why did he have to be such a _fast_ Nailsage?

With a silent sigh, Ghost yanked their nail out of the ground and approached the Sly statue again. They challenged it, and the now-familiar bell rang in their ears for the three-dozenth time that day.

Within a minute, they found themselves lying on the ground in front of the statue. Narrowing their eyes, they challenged again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Ghost tried everything they could possibly think of: charm builds, patterns for dodging, even counting how many times Sly swung his nail so they could swoop in for a cheap hit, and yet next to no progress was made.

Ghost now lay facedown in front of the statue, too busy stewing in anger to bother getting up at the moment. Sly was even shorter than they were, so why was his nail five times his size? It wasn’t fair! Even with both Longnail and Mark of Pride equipped on their cloak, Ghost still couldn’t match the range of Sly’s giant nail, and there was nothing more demoralizing than being defeated by a Great Slash from halfway across the arena.

It was times like these when Ghost wished they had a voice, just so they could use all of those curse words Tiso had taught them. Instead, they had to resort to their very limited sign language for any sort of catharsis, which was still fun, but didn’t have the same effect.

After a few minutes of angry gesturing in the face of the statue, Ghost robotically picked up their nail and trudged further down the hall. Fine, they huffed; if Sly was going to be difficult, then they would just go and practice with another one of the Gods instead.

Unfortunately for them, they had already exhausted nearly all of the Gods that were unlocked. The only one they had yet to fully complete in the Hall was…

Ghost stopped in front of the targeted statue, all of their rage threatening to build up all over again.

Grey Prince Zote.

Grey Prince Zote and his stupid shockwave attacks, his stupid aim, his stupid minions, and his stupid face, all wrapped up in one big stupid package. 

Was it even worth trying? Barely. Sly sounded much more appealing all of sudden, but nevertheless, Ghost readied their nail and planted their foot into the ground, challenging the statue, and wearily braced themselves for a world of rage.

Ghost accepted defeat the first five times, since that was simply what happened every time they fought Zote. The ninth defeat, however, was nowhere near as tolerable, and the blade of their nail once again sank deep into the floor. 

The fight should not have been as difficult as it was. The real Zote was a bumbling idiot who couldn’t even hold a nail upright without tripping over himself. Grey Prince Zote was _still_ a bumbling idiot, except this time he was much better at being one. It was _humiliating,_ being torn to shreds by a false god who even missed hitting the floor half of the time.

Ghost charged into the battle one last time, giving in to the hope that maybe, just maybe, they would get lucky. But alas, they practically got the Void stomped out of them barely a minute in, leaving them back to where they started. 

No, no, that was it. They were done. No. They were not going to deal with this for a second longer, or else they would surely explode out of their shell in frustration. Ghost pushed themselves into a standing position and stomped their way out of the Hall of Gods.

Somehow, the worst part about the hours of practice was that Ghost knew they were going to return to complete the Hall of Gods again, and very soon, too. They’d always hated leaving things incomplete on purpose, and it seemed like this standstill was going to lead to their downfall. They hadn’t even reached the final Pantheon yet, and they were already reaching the breaking point.

Ghost exited the Hall of Gods and climbed up to the floor above, passing by the various godseekers that watched them in interest. They practically flung themselves into the clouds below, not even wanting to bother with making it back to the entrance of the Dream. They needed to quickly go and find something calm to do for a while. Perhaps a stroll around the Blue Lake, or a visit to Dirtmouth, or the act of beating the real Zote into a bloody pulp in a twisted gesture of revenge.

Maybe Mato would bake them cookies if they looked depressed and pitiful enough, Ghost schemed to themselves.


	18. Day 18: Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiso takes Cloth to Kingdom’s Edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled: Tiso Has Trauma Over Being Stomped On by a Brooding Mawlek ft. Cloth
> 
> Mild graphic violence warning on this one for obvious reasons kdvjsjcdjvk

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious,” Tiso said, crossing his arms. 

Cloth shot him an annoyed look, her massive club resting on her shoulder. “You told me this was a place where bugs fought for glory.”

“And?”

Cloth jabbed a finger at a nearby sign, which had been hastily tacked into the floor next to the entrance. “There is no glory in a Colosseum of Fools, Tiso.”

“Sure there is,” he argued, grinning cheekily at her. “The glory of being a Fool.”

The cicada groaned in exasperation, barely heard over the rumble of the arena inside. “I’ll have no part in an honorless battle.”

Tiso scoffed. “Scared?”

“No,” she bit back defensively. “But I am not subjecting myself to whatever sort of cheap tricks they’ll pull on me.”

“You sound rather scared to me. Go ahead and admit it if you feel the need to.” Tiso pointedly turned away and snickered under his breath, feeling her smoldering glare burn into the back of his head. He knew exactly how to push her buttons.

“Fine.” Cloth grabbed his hood and half-dragged him into the colosseum, ignoring his squawks of protest.

The Little Fool was in the exact same position Tiso had seen him last, still dangling upside-down in a web of chains. The small bug excitedly greeted Cloth and, after convincing her to begrudgingly hand over a sack of Geo, pointed her to the Trial boards. Tiso noticed crude replicas of Ghost’s mask on top of each board and couldn’t help but feel a little jealous that he hadn’t gotten that same treatment.

Him and Cloth departed in front of the entrance to the warriors’ pit, which held the benches and the hot spring below, and made his way to the stands. A few workers were cleaning up the remains of the last Trial, and he took a seat in an empty chair to wait.

Tiso wasn’t sure what to expect out of this fight. He’d seen Cloth in action before, but not to this degree of ruthlessness. He doubted anything would actually kill her, especially with it only being the first Trial, but with luck she’d be banged up a bit. Then maybe she’d realize how cutthroat the Colosseum was and respect him a bit more; he’d gotten through nearly all of the Trials, after all, before his...unfortunate accident. He grimaced at the thought, rubbing his still-bandaged side on instinct.

The massive gate rose and fell with a clang, and Cloth strode out into the arena. The thundering cheering from the audience briefly caught her off guard, and Tiso snickered as she stared owlishly at the crowd. It seemed as though she shared Hornet’s inexperience with an audience.

The Trial began promptly, with various armored Fools and baldurs spilling out into the arena. As expected, Cloth made short work of them, smashing them to bits with her club; the audience seemed to enjoy her enthusiasm while she did so.

Things got a little hairier when the spikes appeared. Cloth nearly ended up impaled when access to the floor was suddenly ripped away from her, just barely managing to avoid the spikes. It was clear she was very disgruntled about the ground being taken away. Tiso watched her jump in-between the platforms, chuckling as she was nearly struck in the face by a primal aspid. It was obvious she was nowhere near as skilled in combat when there was no ground under her feet. Despite this, she really wasn’t a bad fighter, but Tiso would never give her the satisfaction of saying that to her face.

After the swift defeat of a vengefly king and more waves of Fools, Cloth was already approaching the end of the Trial. Two Gruz Mothers flew lazily into the arena, almost immediately facing an assault from the cicada. The combined efforts of them slamming their bodies into every surface they could, along with the occasional swing of Cloth’s club, made the stands jolt and shake erratically.

The Gruz Mothers’ bodies were swept off the battlefield, and the final cage rose into view. Tiso leaned forward, his interest piqued. Zote had been the final “challenger” when he had completed his own Trial, and he wondered what the replacement was going to be.

The beast inside the cage pounded on the door several times, growling, before bursting free. It landed hard, scattering pebbles and stone alike, and let out a ferocious roar, its pincers swinging wildly. Immediately, the shape was recognizable.

A brooding mawlek.

Tiso nearly fell out of his chair. 

Down on the battlefield, Cloth held her club with both hands, staring down the new enemy. She was clearly nervous, yet stood defiant as she taunted the creature into coming closer.

Tiso was forced to brace himself in order to remain upright and seated. Brooding mawleks weren’t supposed to be in this Trial at all. Why was it there?! Not that he was nervous or anything, not at all, but its presence suddenly felt a little too familiar for his liking.

He could only watch in slowly-growing anxiousness as Cloth and the brooding mawlek squared off. The disgusting goop the creature had originally spat was no longer orange, thankfully, but now it’s venom was a sludgy black that stained the ground and smelled horrible. Cloth avoided the volleys the best she could, but when a sudden huge wave of venom arced in the air, she burrowed into the earth to avoid it.

The two lunged and weaved around each other in a clumsy dance, but it seemed as though Cloth had the upper hand. Tiso tried to relax. He was just being overly paranoid. There were no restrictions to the arena or any other enemies left over to deal with. Surely she would be fine.

Right at that moment, a particular counterattack from Cloth lasted a tad too long, and Tiso flinched horribly as one of the brooding mawlek’s pincers sliced right through the carapace on Cloth’s arm and into the softer flesh below. The cicada hissed in pain, backpedaling before any more damage could be done, but the mawlek insistently chased her. Tiso gripped the arm of the seat so hard he thought he was going to pry it off. The urge to jump into the fray and assist her suddenly made itself known, nagging him more and more with each passing second, and he lay a hand on his shield instinctively.

Cloth suddenly lashed out and clamped down on the mawlek claw before it could strike again, halting it in its tracks. With an angry yell, she tugged on it as hard as she could, ripping it clean off with the sickening crunch of shell and flesh splitting apart. While it was stunned, she raised the severed claw above her head and drove it deep into the mawlek’s mouth, spraying blood on her clothes and earning deafening cheers from the crowd.

Teeth gnashing in agony, the brooding mawlek staggered for a moment before summoning the last of its strength in a last-ditch effort to survive. It was preparing to jump, Tiso realized with a jolt of panic, noticing the way its legs tensed up. Cloth recognized the same thing, but to his growing horror, she did not burrow into the earth to hide again. Instead, she stood her ground, fists clenched around her club and her feet planted solidly into the dirt.

What the hell was she doing?! Blood pounded in Tiso’s head, muffling the sounds of both bug and music alike. Did she not know how dangerous those things were?! They were incredibly heavy, one of them had crushed him until he couldn’t breathe or move or _do anything,_ crumpled his exoskeleton like it was mere paper, it was going to _kill her-_

He stood up and frantically fumbled with his shield, determined to vault over the railing and join in to help, but he knew he was already much too late. The brooding mawlek roared and leapt into the air, aiming directly for Cloth, and he steeled himself for the devastating impact.

With a final battle cry, Cloth suddenly swung her club in a wide arc, catching the mawlek dead-center in its torso and sending it careening across the arena. It slammed against the wall, shaking the stands, and tumbled to the floor, where it twitched once, twice, before curling in on itself and lying still forever.

For a brief moment, the crowd was silent, and Cloth’s panting could be heard even from up in the stands. But then the victory fanfare played, and Geo started to rain down on the battlefield like confetti.

“Holy shit,” Tiso muttered, inaudible over the deafening sounds of the audience as they cheered around him. He felt like he was going to pass out. “Holy _shit.”_

As soon as the crowd was released, Tiso shoved his way past groups of bugs until he reached the warriors’ pit on the lowest floor. Cloth sat on the bench, bandaging her arm and whistling all the while, her newly-acquired sum of Geo sitting next to her in a drawstring bag.

“Is it bad?” was the first thing he asked once he arrived.

Cloth shook her head. “It’s fairly shallow, so no.”

Relief flooded Tiso’s veins. “Good.” Now that such sentimentalities were over, he snapped. _”What the fuck is wrong with you?!”_

Cloth looked up from her arm in surprise. “Huh?”

Tiso couldn’t stop his rant even if he tried. “That mawlek could have crushed you into nothing but pulp, and what did you do? Instead of avoiding the attack like any sane bug would do, you decide to stand there and take it?! Are you an _idiot?!”_

“I thought I was a Fool, not an idiot,” Cloth corrected teasingly.

“I’m- I- You- My point still stands!” Tiso spluttered angrily. “You are extremely lucky that it didn’t tear you to shreds. I hope you learned your lesson.”

A pause. Cloth propped her head up on her uninjured arm, looking at him curiously. “Say, if I didn’t know any better, it almost feels as though you were worried about me,” she remarked.

“I was _not,”_ Tiso retorted a little too quickly. He inwardly cursed as Cloth’s expression grew even more smug at that, realizing his mistake. “I was only...thinking about the future. Ghost would have my head if I dragged your corpse all the way to Dirtmouth-“

“Mhm, alright,” Cloth hummed, clearly not believing a word. “Whatever you say.”

Tiso glared at her. “I’ll kick your ass if you say anything about this to anyone.”

Cloth snorted, hoisting herself to her feet. “I would certainly like to see you try.” Her gaze wandered over to the hallway that led to the mark boards. “How difficult is the second Trial? I’m tempted to try it.”

But Tiso was already pulling her towards the entrance, shaking his head. “Perhaps...another time.”


	19. Day 19: Mimic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never wander Deepnest without a compass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy oh boy oh b o y
> 
> Putting a warning here for graphic violence again aaaaa

Ghost finally came to the conclusion that they were completely, hopelessly lost.

It wasn’t much of a surprise, really. They’d been to Deepnest so many times, and yet they still had trouble navigating through the winding mazes of tunnels. And now, since they had made the grave mistake of forgetting to bring their compass, they were even more turned around.

Nearby, Hollow paced back and forth anxiously, though not far enough to leave the small radius of light that Ghost’s lantern emitted. They were even less of a fan of the cramped space the two were sheltered in, their large horns constantly scraping the rocks in the ceiling. 

Ghost silently sighed, glaring at the map and its confusing twists and turns. They had no idea as to how Hornet was able to find her way around so easily. In fact, she had been fast enough to accidentally leave them and Hollow in the dust, rendering them lost. Neither of them had seen her in a while; Ghost hoped she would find them soon. They didn’t really like being separated, especially not here.

Hollow approached and crouched down next to them, gazing over their shoulder. They pointed questioningly at a cluster of tunnels near the top of Deepnest, suggesting the location. Ghost pondered for a moment, then shook their head. No, if they were that close to the Fungal Wastes, there would have been a lot more dirtcarvers digging around.

Maybe if Ghost stared at the map long enough, it would magically tell them where they were.

Hollow suddenly tapped their shoulder urgently, snapping them out of their thoughts. The taller vessel pointed down the tunnel, and Ghost looked up just in time to see a familiar flash of red disappear from the light of the lantern.

Ghost leapt to their feet and stuffed their map back in their cloak pocket, relief flooding through them. Hornet had found them! She seemed to be in a hurry, but she was probably just wanting to get all three of them home before nightfall. In any case, she was back, and that was all that mattered.

Ghost and Hollow chased her through Deepnest, down winding caves that seemed to go on forever, sometimes cramped enough to the point where Hollow had to crawl in order to fit. Hornet was elusive, always darting in and out of sight, but she knew her way around much better than they did so it was only natural she was faster. Besides, she always waited until the two siblings caught up to her before silently continuing onward. Ghost hoped she wasn’t too upset with the two of them for getting lost.

The tunnel suddenly opened up into a cavern large enough for the lantern’s glow to not reach the walls. Hollow stepped forward and looked around for Hornet, who had vanished again. Ghost would have done the same, if not for a sudden prickling feeling that made them stop in their tracks. 

Something didn’t feel right, and it was freaking them out. 

They grasped Hollow’s cloak and pointed towards where they’d come from, indicating that they wanted to go back _right now._ Hollow stared at them, confused and wondering why, but Ghost didn’t even know why themselves. 

The two had almost made it to the tunnel when a barrier of some sort of stiff material suddenly crashed down right in front of them, blocking their escape, causing them both to jump. Ghost felt their already-cold Void turn to ice. They knew exactly what this cavern was now.

Bracing themselves, they slowly, gingerly turned around to face the middle of the room. Hornet stood there, leveling their state passively, but Ghost already knew. That was _not_ their sister.

Hollow, who continued to be more and more unnerved by the second, reached back for the hilt of their nail, and that was when “Hornet’s” neck suddenly twisted with a sickening crunch and a _roar_ that rattled the walls of the cave. Head now tilted backwards, “her” body morphed and snapped into a much larger form, riddled with spines and bony joints that jutted out at awkward angles.

Screeching, the nosk raced towards them on way too many legs, and the siblings immediately scattered. 

It went for Hollow first, fangs already flashing in anticipation, but was quickly stopped by a massive nail. Hollow trembled in place, visibly horrified by what they’d just seen, but they still raised their nail and attempted to fight. They acted purely on instinct as the nosk circled them, jabbing in their direction with bared fangs and screeching in anger whenever their attacks were parried or dodged. 

Unfortunately, the creature was smart enough to realize that Hollow had a blind side, and before Ghost knew it they were charging into the fray to defend their sibling. As Hollow struggled to keep the nosk at bay, the small vessel slid underneath its head and blasted it in the face with a well-timed Abyss Shriek, sending it stumbling backwards.

Hollow was deemed to be okay after a quick check-up, but Ghost’s distraction ended up working a bit too well, and the nosk moved onto its new, smaller target.

The Ghost of Hallownest had defeated countless Infected bugs, vengeful Dream warriors, and dozens of angry gods, and yet the sight of the nosk careening towards them, legs scuttling and scratching, still made them turn tail and flee like a terrified grub. They ducked and dodged their way around boulders and piles of dead husks, trying to somehow lose the nosk, but it almost felt just as nimble as they were. Its jaws lunged and snapped at the hem of their cloak and they ran faster still, wanting nothing more than to scream in terror.

In a miraculous stroke of luck, Ghost managed to get far enough away to safely fire a spell in the nosk’s direction. The Vengeful Spirit knocked it off its feet, and Ghost immediately made a beeline for the safest place in the cavern, which happened to be behind Hollow’s legs.

The nosk recovered fast, and eyed them maliciously. Instead of scuttling across the ground as fast as possible, its movements were slow and deliberate, taunting them with sadistic intent. Hollow backed up until they were nearly against the wall, shielding Ghost all the while, their sword hand shaking as the nosk inched even closer. They were both cornered.

Suddenly, there was a faint gleam of light, and the nosk recoiled in surprise as something thin and silver was hurled into its eye. It staggered, screeching, and was immediately pounced on by a scarlet-clad figure, who spat out a string of angry words as she landed on its neck.

Ghost slumped; they’d never been happier to see the color red in their life.

Shouting in rage, Hornet tore her needle free and stabbed the nosk’s other eye, twisting deeply for good measure. The creature wailed, shaking its head (still a near-perfect mimic of her mask) violently in an attempt to throw her off. It almost succeeded, but Hornet clung fast, using her silk to bind its two front legs together and trip it.

Ghost and Hollow flinched back as the nosk toppled over, flailing its horrifying limbs as it struggled to right itself. Fortunately, those were quickly pinned as well, and soon it could only fling its head back and forth, straining to catch her in its jaws and snap her in two, but unable to reach. Ghost cringed at the venom that dripped from its maw.

With that, Hornet retrieved her needle and drove it deep into the softer flesh of the nosk’s underside and yanked upwards, slicing its stomach completely open. Ghost looked away, insides twisting, as blood sprayed onto her cloak and spilled onto the stone, pooling and staining and filling the air with an acrid, metallic smell. The nosk let out a final gurgling shriek that shook the walls before its head drooped and thunked against the ground, never moving again.

There was a tense silence, save for the faint sound of garpedes crawling through the tunnels in the distance.

“This is precisely why I told you two to remain close by _at all times.”_ Hornet’s words were stern and her posture was sterner still, but the crack in her voice was unmistakable. 

She glanced back, and Ghost saw her eyes soften, if only a little. “Are you two alright?”

Both vessels nodded, masks somehow whiter than normal. 

Seemingly satisfied with the answer for now, Hornet tugged her needle out of the nosk’s corpse and placed it, still bloody, across her back. “Then let us return to Dirtmouth as quickly as possible.” Her eyes narrowed. “And do _not_ leave my sight again.”


	20. Day 20: Lifeblood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghost and Myla bake a cake. Mild chaos ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=G5KxZ5Lc_YA

Ghost steadily held the bowl in place, waiting patiently as Myla carefully measured out a few spoonfuls of...something. She hummed quietly to herself as she worked, eventually pouring at least five different liquids of various amounts and colors into the bowl.

“And now you can mix it!” she chirped. “J-just not too much, or we’ll have to do it again.”

Ghost obeyed, taking the spoon and gently stirring, and watched in amazement as all of the ingredients slowly started to come together into something more homogenous. It was oddly satisfying to watch, but they had no idea as to how this was supposed to make a cake. The consistency was closer to porridge than the light, fluffy sponge cakes the miner bug often brought over to share.

Myla clapped her hands. “Great job! We just have to mix a little bit more, and th-then we can bake it.” She reached for a wooden spoon of her own, leaning over as far as she could without falling off of her stepstool. The duo both needed one in order to actually reach the counter.

Hollow entered the kitchen just as Myla was starting her turn on mixing duty. They paused in the doorway, taking in the assembly of bowls, kitchen utensils, and various bags of ingredients. Grimmchild soared into the room shortly afterwards, rambunctious as always. They immediately dive-bombed the counter, snatched up the sifter in their jaws and quickly made off with it, escaping to the living room to gnaw on the handle. They must be teething, Ghost inferred.

Myla looked up, jumping slightly upon noticing the new arrival. “Hello!” she greeted Hollow. “We’re making a cake, d-do you want to join us?”

Hollow looked hesitant at first, but Ghost slumped over on the counter and conjured up the best pleading look they could muster, and the taller vessel had no choice but to accept. They rounded the kitchen and crouched down next to Ghost, watching Myla continue to stir the batter, which was noticeably smoother now. She passed the bowl to Hollow, and they mixed as carefully as they could manage, not wanting to spill anything.

Baking took a lot of effort, Ghost deduced, as Myla divided the batter into two pans and put them in the oven. Did she really do this every time she wanted a cake? 

“And now we wait!” Myla dusted off her hands and hopped down from her stool. “Until then, w-we can clean up a little bit.” She started to seal up the bags of flour and sugar that were propped up on the floor; they were almost as big as she was. Ghost laughed noiselessly, watching Hollow jerk back in bewilderment as the miner lifted both of them over her head with no effort whatsoever.

About halfway through the baking time, the group heard a soft knock on the door. Hollow immediately dropped the bowl they were rinsing to go answer it, returning shortly afterwards with Hornet in tow. The spider had a small woven basket resting on her arm, stained with specks of cerulean.

“I’ve brought your lifeseeds,” she announced, carefully placing the basket on the counter next to the stepstools. “I hope the amount will suffice.”

Myla leaned over to peer into the basket. “It’s perfect, th-thank you!” She turned back, wringing out her hands anxiously. “Oh, I hope it wasn’t too m-much trouble.”

Hornet shook her head. “No, Ghost had a cocoon in King’s Pass marked on their map.” She wandered around the kitchen, taking note of the cake in the oven, and then joined Hollow at the sink to help with the dishes.

Ghost eyed the lifeseeds curiously. They drank lifeblood sometimes whenever they wanted an extra cushion of defense for fighting, so what was it going to be used for here? They tilted their head at Myla to voice such a question.

Myla grabbed a lifeseed and used the tip of a knife to puncture it with practiced precision, allowing the lifeblood inside to trickle through a strainer and into a bowl. “M-my mother almost never baked, but whenever she did, sh-she always added lifeblood. It was always such a pretty blue color, and it made things h-healthier, too! Back then, w-we needed all the nutrients we could get f-for the mines.”

She tossed the now-drained lifeseed and pulled another out of the basket. “Ghost, if you want to, y-you can stir up the sugar so it doesn’t have any big clumps in it. I think the sifter is still...absent.”

Grimmchild ‘nyah’ed in confirmation from their perch in the living room, chewing on the handle of said utensil with gusto.

Ghost saluted, grabbing a spoon and pulling the bowl of sugar closer to them. They were about to get started when they suddenly paused, contemplating something. Myla had warned them about not mixing anything too fast, but she hadn’t specified as to why they shouldn’t. What _exactly_ would happen if they mixed it super fast?

And suddenly that was all Ghost could think about. They absolutely had to test this. For science. What did Quirrel call it again? “Experimenting”? 

They looked around to make sure no one had noticed them scheming, then stuck the spoon in and started stirring as fast as they possibly could. As if a belfly had exploded, the kitchen was immediately filled with giant white clouds, showering the entire group in powdered sugar.

“Ghost!” Hornet scolded. Behind her, Hollow retreated several steps out of the kitchen, passing by Grimmchild, who had dropped the sifter and was cackling maniacally at the chaos.

Myla coughed, waving away the puffs of sugar that swirled around her face. “O-oh dear.”

Ghost triumphantly put their hands on their hips. They had no regrets. 

“Clean this up.” Hornet sneezed, an uncharacteristically dainty sound for a fierce protector of Hallownest, and she glared at Hollow when they silently snickered in amusement. “Do not mind Ghost, Myla. They simply cannot control themselves.”

Myla giggled. “It’s alright! I’ve d-done that so many times...a-although usually it’s by accident.” 

While Myla worked on the cake, Hornet forced Ghost to clean up the dusting of sugar they had strewn everywhere. Normally they’d be a little annoyed, but it had been worth seeing the sugar explosion in exchange for having to wipe down the counters and cabinets. They finished just in time to watch Myla pull the pans out of the oven and their eye sockets widened to the size of dinner plates, seeing two fluffy cake layers inside instead of the weird batter she’d put in earlier. How on earth did that happen?! Was it magic? 

The lifeblood-infused substance, labelled “icing” by Myla, was indeed a very pretty light blue color. She allowed them all to taste it, and immediately Ghost was hooked. It was pleasantly sweet, with a hint of the bright refreshing taste of lifeblood that they’d grown to enjoy. They bounced in place and rapidly tapped her arm to express their opinion.

Myla blushed. “Y-you really like it?”

Hollow and Hornet both nodded in response, the former restraining Grimmchild to keep them from ransacking the bowl.

Myla assembled the cake not too long after, carefully drizzling the icing and swirling in drops of pure lifeblood until it was the one of the most aesthetically-pleasing foods Ghost had ever seen. They didn’t know how they were going to live with themselves if they cut into it and ruined the design, they lamented, watching Myla place a glass dome over the cake, humming quietly.

“It has to set f-for a little while,” she explained. The icing bowl was still on the counter, and she gestured towards it. “In the meantime, there’s a little bit left over i-if-“

Ghost immediately dove for the bowl, but was soon stopped when Grimmchild shoved their way to the counter as well. They both grabbed the bowl at the same time, and soon they were engaged in a vicious tug-of-war on the floor of the kitchen. Ghost dug their heels into the tile, stubbornly refusing to let go despite the child’s half-serious snarls. They were _not_ about to give up something as precious at this lifeblood icing to anyone, much less Grimmchild.

“Have _some_ dignity, you two,” Hornet sighed, although she discreetly passed a spoon to both Hollow and Myla, keeping one for herself. “And kindly leave some for the rest of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Y’all better treasure Myla rn cuz I’m gonna make her suffer again in a couple chapters whoops~~


	21. Day 21: Kingdoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pharloom is unfamiliar. Hallownest feels grayer than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a sILksOnG tHinG wOaH??? ? ?? ?
> 
> Hhhhh putting a disclaimer here cuz we know next to nothing about Silksong so this entire chapter is just a mixture of AU and made-up shit lmao
> 
> Fjsjfjsfhjs this one’s a bit shorter cuz I’m d e a d af so sorry about that :( The next one will be longer tho uwu

It was unnerving, hearing the constant bustle of bugs as they wandered the city. Always talking, always staring, they lived their lives so casually, as if there wasn’t any sort of threat looming over them.

Hallownest had been a dead, quiet kingdom, but the danger had been upfront. As soon as one descended into the Crossroads, the Infection made its presence known, morphing husks into stumbling, reanimated corpses that were none-too quiet. Pharloom was far from dead, yet to Hornet was just as dangerous, if not more. Threats here existed in the form of whispered rumors and silent assassins: elusive and secretive, with their sources traveling so far up the hierarchy they were impossible to snuff out. Pharloom lulled its civilians into a false sense of security, then struck when least expected and left no evidence behind.

Hornet felt eyes staring at the back of her head and instinctively straightened her posture. She dragged her whetstone across the blade of her needle to sharpen it, hoping the action would be intimidating enough to prevent anyone from approaching. Her skills could take her through the most perilous areas of Hallownest with ease, but here she was dangerously out of her element. Crowds were new, and unpredictable. There were too many bugs in one place that could potentially be looking to kill her, and there was nowhere for her to hide in the citadel.

Never did Hornet think she would almost miss the constant danger that the desolate wilds of Hallownest provided. Though, much of that came from the fact that her family was there.

Hornet winced. Gods, her _siblings._ She prayed they were faring well by themselves, although no doubt they were worried sick. There wasn’t any way for her to contact them from so far away; not even the Pharloom postal system stretched as far as Hallownest.

She shouldn’t have gotten captured. It had been so incredibly stupid of her to let her guard down, even if it had been a routine hunting trip that shouldn’t have been dangerous in the first place. Years of living alone in Hallownest had taught her to always remain alert, but adopting a more domestic life had made her careless.

But she would not make that mistake again. 

Hornet stood abruptly, sheathing her needle and ignoring the stares of other bugs as they walked by. The towers of the citadel’s peak loomed overhead, dark and imposing. The only way home was up there, she knew. At the rate she was traveling, it would only take a day or so to reach the top. She didn’t know how far away she was from Hallownest, but surely someone up there did.

Hornet only hoped her siblings had not given up on her so easily. 

—

Ghost didn’t like Greenpath as much anymore. It was as vibrant and lush as ever, a peaceful safe haven in the ruins of the kingdom. But they could never look at it in the same way ever again.

The patch of grass they stood in front of was marked by a rough circle of stones; Grimmchild huddled solemnly just outside of it, not daring to step inside the border. According to the Hunter, who had given up some time ago, their sister’s scent had long since gotten stale, but it still felt wrong of them to stand over where it had lingered. Quirrel had taken samples of the soil for testing, but otherwise what little remained of Hornet’s disappearance was completely untouched.

Sighing, Ghost pulled out a spare of Hornet’s red cloak, holding it out to Grimmchild. They leaned in to sniff it (her scent was even starting to fade off of her clothes, too) and took off, leaving Ghost to their own devices.

Ghost obsessively combed every inch of Greenpath in the same way they’d done so many times before. Not a single leaf was unturned, not a bush unsearched, not a path neglected. Every corner of soil was examined in the desperate hope that they would find something they had just happened to miss the last two dozen times they’d searched. A note, a weapon, footprints, _something_ other than a tiny patch of soil and a long-faded scent that went nowhere.

Ghost and Grimmchild reunited a few hours later, both turning up with nothing.

The walk back to Dirtmouth was silent. Hallownest was a quiet kingdom for obvious reasons, but it felt much more so now. It was emptier, too, without the presence of their sister lurking in the canopies of Greenpath or the tunnels of Deepnest.

Elderbug gave them a look of sympathy as they passed by. From the map shop’s window, Iselda offered another care package, but Ghost couldn’t find the willpower to respond. At that point, they only wanted the shelter of their home and nothing else.

Hollow was sitting by the window when Ghost trudged inside, and their head swiveled around expectantly like it always did. Nail dragging behind them dejectedly, Ghost answered their unspoken question with a slow shake of their head. Nothing.

Hollow’s head visibly drooped, and Ghost’s followed suit. Weeks without a trace of Hornet anywhere, and yet the confirmation that there was nothing left of her, that she had completely vanished, still hung heavy in the household.

Ghost climbed up into Hollow’s lap, knowing both of them sought comfort, and soon Grimmchild curled up alongside the smaller vessel, pleasantly warm against the chill of the Void. Above them, Hollow sighed, a dull, long-winded noise. They slumped back into their chair, wrapping an arm around the other two as if they would also be ripped away to never be seen again.

Ghost watched the empty streets outside, straining to spot a flash of scarlet despite themselves. As demoralized as they were, they refused to believe that Hornet would never be coming back. There was no way. She would not have gotten killed in such a careless manner, and there was absolutely no way she’d abandoned Hallowest, or her family. They knew her better than that.

Still, it had been weeks, and it was impossible not to worry. Ghost had half a mind to venture out and look for her themselves, but where would they go? The world outside Hallownest was endless, with thousands of places to search through and get lost in. They’d never find her without any sort of guidance.

They felt Hollow’s shoulders start to shake, not to the point of crying, but enough to convey grief. Ghost nestled closer, patting an unbandaged spot on their sibling’s chest in an attempt to be comforting, but they were hardly an emotional anchor themselves. If not for the fact that they’d run out of tears to shed a long time ago, they would be doing the exact same as Hollow.

It wasn’t fair, Ghost thought bitterly to themselves. Out of all the bugs in the world, why had their _sister_ been the one to get taken away? After everything they’d gone through, didn’t their family deserve a break? Didn’t _they_ deserve a break? 

Beneath the home, the kingdom mourned alongside them in silence, its protector no longer wandering its twisting caverns.


	22. Day 22: Acid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloth stops by the Forgotten Crossroads and meets someone new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray for another chapter of which the prompt title is only vaguely inspiration for sajcjsgkckd
> 
> Soooo uh mild warnings for violence and,,fantasizing about death ig?? It’s Cloth so you know how that is
> 
> ~~Welcome to Part 2 of Myla has a Bad Time AHAHAHAHA~~

The Forgotten Crossroads was stained with orange, tendrils of Infection pulsing like a heartbeat. It unnerved Cloth to no end, hearing the constant unnatural thrumming everywhere she wandered, almost as much as the Infection-bloated husks did. She learned the hard way that those exploded upon death.

Sighing, she slid down onto the dusty soil, listening to the acid bubble underneath her feet. She had come to the Crossroads hoping to find another battle to partake in- there were rumors about a fierce knight hidden somewhere in the area- but so far there had been nothing of the sort. All she had gotten were dozens of Infection-controlled bugs that spewed orange goo everywhere. She couldn’t even bury herself underground and wait for something worth fighting to pass by. She had tried, and nearly ended up in the same toxic lake she was currently standing next to.

What a shameful death that would have been, she hissed to herself, stewing in annoyance. She hadn’t been killed by it, but the fact that it had nearly happened in the first place was nothing short of humiliating. How far she had fallen, from battling a giant mantis to nearly digging straight into a pool of acid. 

Her fight alongside the Little Warrior (she didn’t know their name, admittedly) had gone well; there had been no casualties, and Cloth had been the one to deal the finishing blow. It had been a glorious fight, the best one she’d ever had, and yet she was still unsatisfied. She couldn’t help but think it would have been even better if she had died in a blaze of glory, a bittersweet but satisfying end to her life. The fight with the giant mantis had been perfect, but of course her luck had caused her to unfortunately survive.

There wouldn’t be another opportunity like that in Hallownest. There was nothing glorious about dying to the Infection. There was no honor in being driven mad and having her body used as a puppet. She would have to move on to the next kingdom.

Cloth’s gaze swept the cavern as she stood up, taking in the various husks shambling and staggering, puppeted by orange wisps of Infection. Her eyes fell upon a particular miner, much smaller than the other bugs, hobbling along the wall with their pickaxe dangling limply in their grasp. She grimaced. A body was meant to rest and return to the earth forever, and not even that was honored by the plague.

...Wait a minute.

Cloth squinted, making sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Though the small miner certainly _behaved_ like an undead husk, she realized with a jolt that their eyes lacked the distinctive orange glow of someone possessed by the Infection. They weren’t Infected at all.

That little miner bug was _still alive._

Cloth nearly dropped her club, a dozen thoughts slamming into her at once. She hadn’t expected to meet another survivor down here, not with the Infection’s source so close by. For a brief moment she had no idea what to do, but then something clicked into place and her instincts kicked in. This bug needed help.

She couldn’t burrow underground with the pond of acid in the way, so she had to maneuver around the staggering husks instead. Normally she would be all for smashing them to bits, but the last thing that miner bug needed was for one of the Infected to notice them. It looked as though a mere breeze would knock them over, so an Infected husk surely would kill them easily.

The little miner had stumbled to a stop by the time Cloth reached them- no, her. The cicada leaned in, cringing at how sickly the other looked, but at least it wasn’t Infection. There was still hope yet. “Hello?” she called out awkwardly, not quite sure how to get the miner’s attention. “Are...you alright, little one?”

The sickly sweet smell suddenly increased tenfold, and Cloth leapt back as wispy orange clouds suddenly floated menacingly about the miner’s head. The miner immediately recoiled, letting out a _shriek_ that pierced the thick air like a knife. “No!” she wailed, clawing at her head and squeezing her eyes shut. “No, no, _no!_ I don’t want to! I don’t! Stop, stop, stop, _please stop!”_

Fearing the worst, Cloth tensed her shoulders, preparing to put this bug out of her misery if necessary. She raised her weapon, and nearly dropped it again as the orange fog vanished as quickly as it came, and the miner slumped against the wall, panting in agony but miraculously still free of Infection. She was resisting it, _how was she resisting it?_

“Hello?” Cloth knelt down in front of the miner, addressing her with more urgency this time. “Little one? Can you hear me?”

There was a pause, and the miner bug’s gaze slid over to her, unfocused and cloudy with pain. “...W-who’s..?” She trailed off, her soft voice distant and confused. “...Where am I..?”

Good enough. Cloth carefully placed her hands on the miner’s tiny shoulders, hoping that would help her snap back into reality. “I’m here to help you. What’s your name, little one?”

The tiniest flicker of life sparked in the miner’s eye. “...Myla...I think…” Her breath suddenly hitched, and tears started to trickle unbidden down her cheeks. “...Please help me, I-I can’t... _please help me…”_

Cloth choked down the lump in her throat. “I will,” she promised with all the conviction she had. “I’m taking you to a town above the surface, where the Infection cannot reach. You’ll be safe there. Do you understand?”

Myla nodded, still teetering on the edge of hysterics and mumbling nonsense to herself. Cloth gently scooped her up, allowing her to cling to the back of her poncho with surprising strength. She was such a tiny little thing, way too small to be out in the midst of the hell Hallownest had become.

Cloth had barely taken a step when Myla suddenly convulsed in her arm, sobbing about “the Light” screaming at her, and the head of every single Infected bug within earshot suddenly swiveled around to glare at them. 

...Shit.

A vengefly screeched, and the small horde of undead began to close in on Cloth. She felt fear begin to bubble up in her chest, but she stuffed it down before it could morph into anything irrational. She’d helped take down a giant mantis! There was no reason for her to be afraid of this small army of bugs, and if she died fighting them, then so be it.

...No, she suddenly amended, gripping her club menacingly. She was _not_ dying here. It wasn’t worth leaving Myla to be consumed by the Infection. Cloth could take them all, no sweat, she just needed to…

Her eyes flickered downwards to the pool of acid below, and an idea struck her. She waited until one of the bloated husks pulled away from the group, running towards her with surprising speed, and smacked it off the edge with one good swing. It tumbled into the acid, where its body hissed and spat until there was nothing left.

And it didn’t explode.

Cloth grinned.

Bug after bug was violently sent flying into the acid, making the lake bubble and churn as it consumed carapace and orange pustules alike. The only close call Cloth had was when the acid spat a particularly high volley of droplets in her direction, but she had her mask on and Myla hadn’t been struck, so no tragedy occurred. She found that she didn’t mind that too much when it came to herself.

With that, Cloth raced through the Crossroads as fast she could, dodging the exploding husks and vengeflies that barreled towards her on sight. She passed the entrance to the Crystal Peaks (Gods, had Myla really dragged herself all the way from the mines?) and clambered up the cliff with ease. Upon passing by the Temple, Myla started whimpering again, and even Cloth began to hear sinister whispering coming from inside. She left very quickly after that, shaking her head to rid herself of the voices.

Dirtmouth was quiet; the only bug in sight was of an older sort, with a hunched back and large horns. He pointed owlishly at a nearby shop when Cloth demanded a healer; it was obviously a mapmaker’s store, but she would take what she could get at that point.

The tall bug that answered the door didn’t seem to be put off by a complete stranger in front of her shop, instead shouting a “Cornifer, get the kit from the cellar, please!” over her shoulder and reaching out for Myla. “Poor thing. What happened?”

“Found her in the Crossroads,” Cloth replied. Myla trembled and coughed in response.

The tall bug faltered, if only slightly. “Has she been..?”

“No.” Cloth reluctantly handed over Myla; the miner seemed way too out of it to even register what was happening, which was probably a good thing.

“Alright. Don’t worry, we’ll fix her right up.” The tall bug gave Cloth a reassuring smile and started to retreat back into the building. Another bug, stouter and bespectacled, could be seen scurrying down a trapdoor in the back.

Cloth turned to leave, ready to take a brief rest before venturing out into the wastelands. She’d surely find a new opportunity to achieve the death and glory that she’d wanted for herself for years now, and yet…

She stopped, and turned back. Stepping closer, she rapped a knuckle on the doorframe. “Is it alright if I...wait here?”

The female bug’s eyes were warm. “Of course, honey,” she answered, as if she’d been waiting for the question before it was asked. “Come in; we’ll get the two of you settled.”


	23. Day 23: Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quirrel reflects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all know I had to do it to ‘em
> 
> Warning for suicidal thoughts here so plz don’t read if that’s not your thing, stay safe <3

The water barely even lapped along the shoreline of the lake. It was almost completely still, appearing much closer to a shade of brilliant blue glass than a body of water. It felt just as fragile; sometimes he was almost afraid to breathe too harshly in fear of disturbing the surface. It was a miracle the Blue Lake had been left untouched by the Infection at all, and an even bigger miracle that hardly anyone came to visit it. Quirrel didn’t know how long he’d sat there, completely unbothered. Not that he minded; he was a social bug at heart, but he did need his solitude rather frequently. 

Quirrel could take in much more of the scenery at once nowadays, without Monomon’s mask blocking parts of his vision. It was still so strange to not have it there. To think that the very thing that had lured him back to Hallownest was gone. Monomon was gone. His purpose was gone. He had fulfilled what he had come to do, and how he had nothing to his name, not in this ruined kingdom, nor anywhere else.

But Quirrel did not grieve over such a thing. Maybe a lifetime ago he would have, but now it brought a warm feeling of peace. No anger, no fear, no bitterness: only quiet acceptance. He had lived a long life. Too long, in fact. With his purpose fulfilled, there was nothing left for him on this earth. So why would he stay? 

How wonderful it would be, he thought to himself all of a sudden, to walk out into the water and let it float him away until it couldn’t support him anymore. He’d drift along the glassy surface, so still he’d barely even stir up ripples, allowing the serenity to lull him into a permanent sleep. 

That sounded nice.

That sounded so nice.

Quirrel unsheathed his nail, sticking it into the driftwood, and his muscles tensed as he prepared to hoist himself up.

A faint whisper of movement, and suddenly the small figure of his masked friend was standing in front of him. Quirrel paused, then sat back down again. The little bug had taken to fading in and out of sight like a ghost whenever convenient, to the point where it didn’t even startle him anymore.

They didn’t speak to him when addressed, as expected, but to Quirrel’s mild surprise, they silently plopped down next to him, crossing their legs neatly. Their head turned to stare at him, actively searching the expressions on his face. He wondered what they could see. 

“Forgive my aloofness,” Quirrel spoke up, “but I’ve been feeling rather tired as of late.”

The vessel (That sounded right, yes. They were a vessel: a creature meant to contain the source of the Infection.) tilted their head, then pulled out their map from the depths of their cloak to unfurl it. They pointed at the small town above the surface- Dirtmouth, he recalled- and gazed at him innocently. A suggestion to rest there.

Quirrel chuckled with no real life behind it; he was glad that they didn’t understand. “Perhaps another time.”

They watched the stillness of the lake in silence, legs dangling in the water. It looked so incredibly inviting, just waiting for Quirrel to sink into its cool embrace, so it could whisk him away from his too-long life. If not for the vessel’s presence, he might have already jumped in.

The little bug decided to make themselves busy and unveiled a second scroll of parchment from their cloak. This one was littered with whimsical little doodles, and they were all linked together by a series of arrows to create a sequence. Quirrel leaned forward, trying to decipher the drawings. Many were of his friend slashing various other bugs, including one that looked to be a moth of some sort. The drawing after that was a generic splash of orange that had been angrily crossed out.

And along the bottom of the parchment was a sketch of Dirtmouth, complete with rather juvenile illustrations of several bugs Quirrel had never seen before, standing together in the center of town. He only recognized his friend, a bug beside them wearing a red cloak that looked strangely familiar, another that appeared suspiciously close to that statue in the City of Tears, and…

Standing tall next to a lamppost, maskless and carrying a stack of journals, but carefree all the same, was him.

Quirrel blinked, and he reached a hand out to point at the diagram. “What is this for?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

The small bug pressed a finger to the top of the parchment and slowly traced the winding arrows down, until they came to a stop at the Dirtmouth drawing. They quickly scribbled a couple of hearts above the characters, and he had a feeling they would be beaming if they were capable of doing so.

Was this their plan to stop the Infection? The sketches of various charms, the scribbled battle strategies, the occasional orange stain; it made sense. Had they really spent what seemed like hours devising it, perfecting it, ensuring a good future for all of the bugs they included?

...And had they really thought to include him as well?

“You never cease to interest me, my friend,” Quirrel remarked.

The vessel stood after a while, rolling up their parchment as they prepared to leave. To Quirrel’s surprise, they extended a tiny hand to him instead of slipping away silently. “Did you need assistance?” he asked tentatively.

The little bug waggled the Dirtmouth section of the parchment in their hand as if it were obvious.

But why would he go there to rest? Quirrel was already here, and so was the lake, willing to allow him to rest for eternity. He was tired, he was ready to go.

And yet…

The vessel was still there, hand reaching out for him to take. They cocked their head at his hesitation, innocent and friendly.

Was it really worth it?

...

The surface of the water gleamed like the smooth sheet of glass it was. It was truly a most peaceful place.

...

They were halfway to the stag station when Quirrel realized he had left his nail there.


	24. Day 24: Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To see so much nightmare essence in one town was unnatural, even for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G r i m m 
> 
> Mild warning for body horror in this chapter aaa, nothing bad but it’s there in a couple places
> 
> Also I stan the headcanon about Grimm and the Radiance being siblings so it’s here now lmao

It was no surprise that the residents of Hallownest did not sleep soundly. The Radiance’s Infection had permanently left its long, deep scars in the kingdom, in more ways than one. The caves down below, although they were slowly becoming more populated, were still painfully barren compared to the way they had been a lifetime ago. Those few that survived had had their minds torn to troubled shreds.

As a result, nightmares were very common in Dirtmouth, even by Grimm’s standards. Nearly every night, he could peek outside his tent and see wisps of scarlet dream essence floating among the houses. He almost pitied them, in all honesty. Between the two of them, the Radiance had always been the crueler sibling (ironically enough), and even though She had been struck down ages ago, Her name was forever burned into the minds of those She had affected.

His child had recently learned how to pass between the Nightmare Realm and reality, and they had come to his tent one night, distressed. They could see the essence and enter nightmares, but they were unable to put an end to them; and so they had turned to him for help with doing so. Grimm, being the literal Nightmare King, was nearly unstoppable in such a world, able to twist such awful dreams into anything he desired. It was quite cathartic, really.

Grimm peeled back the flap of his tent and stepped outside, immediately discovering why his child was so unnerved. The town was shrouded in bright red orbs of essence that drifted and suffocated like a thick fog. He certainly hadn’t done this; the nightmares must be especially powerful tonight.

“Hmm,” he hummed in disapproval. “Well, that certainly won’t do.”

The Grimmchild hovered next to his head, whining softly, and he stroked one of their horns. “Do not fret. Dispelling such nightmares will be rather simple.”

Normally, Grimm let bugs slumber uninterrupted, knowing his intimidating reputation would cause some issues if he suddenly started appearing in dreams left and right. Sometimes he couldn’t help himself, though; he knew what it was like being on the receiving end of the Radiance’s wrath, and it was definitely unpleasant. There were many times in which he didn’t even want to give Her the satisfaction of lurking in the nightmares of other bugs. That was _his_ job, and even then the town of Dirtmouth did not deserve such torment.

His constant scarlet glow made it difficult to be elusive, but he fortunately made it to one of the houses on the outskirts of town without being noticed. The essence here was fairly strong, but not the worst he’d seen. With a wave of a claw, he gathered the dream symbols until they enveloped both him and his child, sending them both to the Nightmare Realm.

The nearly-blinding light faded, and Grimm frowned at the immediate presence of orange in its place. He’d never liked the color, and then the Radiance had ultimately ruined it even further with Her Infection. He always knew that She had attuned to that color on purpose, just to make a mockery of the bright reds he himself had favorited.

The small corner of the Nightmare Realm faded into existence, forming pale crystals on the walls. His child cowered, attempting to burrow into his cloak at the sight of the small bug spasming in obvious pain before them. She trembled on the floor, violently hacking up mouthfuls of Infection, and they let out a quiet whine of disgust at the sight.

“Have no fear,” Grimm soothed. “Nightmares such as these are often quite unpleasant, but they are harmless. Nothing outside of this realm is real.” He snapped his fingers, and the small bug sat up as if nothing had happened, her surroundings suddenly blissfully free of orange. “See now? There is no harm done.”

Appeased for the time being, Grimmchild squeaked in understanding, crawling up to gnaw on his finger.

The next nightmare was of a more comical sort, to Grimm’s delight. He watched the ant sprint around the conjured battlefield, screaming all the while as he was chased by a barrel-bodied creature with sharp pincers. Grimm chuckled at the rather entertaining display, and he probably would have watched much longer if the bumping of the child’s forehead against his face was any less insistent. Sighing, he summoned a massive hammer to crush the creature in its tracks before leaving with a flourish, stepping gingerly over puddles of Infection.

Grimm moved swiftly between nightmares, dealing with each one as quickly as he could, with enough variety to entertain his child. He summoned large mushroom warriors (the ones that repeatedly smashed their heads into the floor, as Ghost had mentioned) to keep Infected bugs away from the female beetle that hid in the corner. In the archivist’s mind, he yanked a giant plug out of the Blue Lake to drain the now-churning waves away as if emptying a bathtub. And as for the cicada, who was being pursued by Infected weavers and parasitic beasts, he simply unleashed a series of flames to slowly scorch them to death. There was no mercy for those hellspawns.

The last house was nearly completely engulfed in the brightest wheels of essence Grimm had seen that night. He had expected as much; the Pale children were especially troubled when it came to their nightmares. As per usual, he entered Hollow’s first, and came face-to-face with a web of chains that stretched down from the pitch-black walls.

Grimm frowned, watching the tall vessel thrash about in their bindings, eyes glowing a familiar orange. Their struggles only worsened when their other siblings staggered into the room, masks cracked and limbs riddled with pustules of Infection. They lunged at Hollow, screaming, but were pulled back by Grimm when he snapped off a chain to restrain them. Painstakingly, he shrunk away the Infection until it vanished from sight (what a disgusting color it was), then melted the chains to release all three siblings from their clutches.

“There we are,” Grimm remarked, satisfied, morphing the darkness of the room into something more soothing.

The Princess was queued next, and both father and child noticed a pair of shattered masks lying rejected on the ground as soon as they arrived. Hornet was kicking and screaming like a bug possessed, her fangs dripping with venom, as a pair of white-hooded figures struggled to shove her into a cage. With a dramatic sweep of his arm, Grimm dissipated her attackers, then used finer-tuned movements to piece the masks back together until their bodies formed underneath.

“This essence is quite strong,” he muttered half to himself, approaching the final cluster of red dream symbols. His child ‘mrr’ed in acknowledgement, ruffling their wings from their perch on his shoulder.

The two entered, and immediately were nearly knocked over by an earth-shattering roar. Grimmchild retreated into the folds of his wings for protection, and he snarled up at the massive form of the Radiance looming over them, Her Light stinging his eyes out of sheer intensity. Ghost was positioned below Her on a platform, visibly panting as Void leaked from a crack in their mask.

The Radiance summoned a ring of swords, preparing Her final blow, but Grimm was faster. With a sharp flick of his wrist, Her physical form burst into scarlet flames, and She _screeched_ in pure rage but was unable to put out the pillar of fire that consumed Her. 

The smoke cleared, and the entire nightmare was now nothing but a blank, featureless realm. Grimm sneered victoriously. He had been waiting a _long_ time to do that.

Ghost, now completely unscathed, looked around in bewilderment. They then noticed Grimm standing a little ways away and their eyes lit up, racing over to meet him. Of course, Grimm remembered; as wielder of the Dream Nail, they naturally had at least some form of lucidity in their dreams.

“Greetings, my friend,” Grimm purred, reaching into his folded wings to comfortingly stroke the Grimmchild. “Apologies for interrupting a most fearsome battle, but I simply could not resist having a go at her myself.”

Ghost scampered up and hugged him as far up his torso as they could reach in a gesture of gratitude. Grimmchild felt brave enough to emerge, and they proceeded to playfully divebomb the vessel and fly laps around their horns.

“You are most welcome.” Grimm watched the two play with amusement. “As much as we would love to stay and grace you with our presences, we have altered the Nightmare Realm for quite some time now and must return to the tents. Come along, little one,” he added in the direction of his child. 

The Grimmchild obeyed, squawking a farewell at Ghost before returning to their perch on his shoulder. Ghost waved enthusiastically as Grimm prepared more nightmare essence for his departure.

“May you rest easy from this moment onward, my friend!” Grimm called back to them, his wings billowing dramatically in an unknown gust of wind. “And remember to check on your dear siblings; my sister makes quite a mess of things in their dreams.”


	25. Day 25: Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Higher beings did not like being forgotten. Seer knew this firsthand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tumbles down stairs* I got attacked by Writer’s Block during the making of this chapter so have some l o r e hhhhhh
> 
> Disclaimer cuz HK lore is hard to figure out so a bunch of this probably wrong so plz don’t kill me for it kfovksjfskvkc TuT

The small vessel held the Dream Nail aloft, admiring its soft glow. They grasped the hilt and swung it experimentally a few times, and Seer chuckled as they immediately struck her with it, feeling the blade prod its way into her thoughts. She’d had them pegged for the mischievous type from the beginning.

She sent them out to collect essence and they scampered off, brandishing their new weapon. It had been a very long time since she’d seen such a pure, gentle glow, much less one that was so closely related to Her.

The Radiance had been somewhat kind to her tribe once upon a time. She had adored Her moths, allowing them prosperous life and peace in Her Light in exchange for their worship. And She had followed through, offering guidance and protection to those moths who needed it. For a long time, the Seer’s dreams were warm and peaceful, free of the nightmares that Her brother had been rumored to cause.

But the adorations of the tribe were a fickle thing. Upon the arrival of a newer, paler Light, many moths had blindly flocked to it with no regard for anything else. Although Seer’s memory was fading, she clearly recalled how appalled she had been, seeing those shrines and resting grounds in disrepair. How could they have been so quick to abandon Her, to _forget_ Her, after all She had done for them?

The wiser moths that had remained loyal had tried to warn the tribe. It did not matter how kind she had been to them; the Radiance was still a higher being, and higher beings often did not take kindly to such betrayals.

And She had not taken kindly to it _at all._

The vessel returned some time later, with more than 1000 essence stored inside the Dream Nail. Seer examined it, finding it rather amusing that they, according to the nail, had attempted to smack every bug they had come across in order to read their thoughts. There was nothing to be gained from it; it was only curiosity that had motivated them.

Dreams had morphed into cruel, violent things on that fateful day of reckoning. The Radiance’s light, once golden, warm and reassuring, had become white-hot waves of bright orange torment that drove bugs mad left and right. Seer dreamed once, and promptly vowed to not do so again for a long time. The fabled Nightmare King had almost been as preferable to deal with.

Seer suddenly heard a distant roar from somewhere above. Ah, perhaps it had come from the Crossroads, where the Temple sat. She wasn’t clueless; she knew why this vessel was here, what it was destined to do.

Seer pitied the poor Hollow Knight that had been unfortunately chosen to seal Her away. The paler Light had been too confident, too oblivious to the fact that his precious Pure Vessel was about as far from “pure” as such a creature could get. Yet another living, breathing, _feeling_ soul lost to needless suffering.

After a while, the tiny vessel ran back into her tent, proudly sporting 1800 essence in their Dream Nail. They were now unstoppable, able to breach the defenses of every mind in Hallownest, to see the darkest failures of the kingdom with their own eyes. There were many secrets hidden in the abandoned caverns that they now had access to: horrific experiments, fatal mistakes that would cost unnecessary lives, unspeakable acts that were hidden under lock and key, the list went on.

The tribe’s failure, although just one of many that Hallownest had suffered, was unforgivable. Their disloyalty had been the original cause of the Radiance’s rampage, and though a select few refused to follow the paler Light, including herself, their numbers had not been enough to prevent such tragedy. 

Now only Seer was left to bear that guilt. The others had been driven mad by Infection several eternities ago; with no Wielder, they could not simply cross over to Her realm and beg for mercy, so they had been slain without regret. She had only survived out of sheer luck and nothing more.

2400 essence was gathered in the Dream Nail now. 

_Incredible,_ Seer mused, stroking the blade of the nail, which glowed more intensely than ever before. This vessel truly was the Wielder that the Moth Tribe had been looking for. 

There was no hope in convincing the Radiance to loosen Her grasp on the kingdom, not after centuries of Her unrelenting anger. She would have to be struck down in order to be stopped completely. Seer wasn’t quite sure if that would be entirely possible, but the risk had to be taken.

“When the time comes, strike with this nail,” she ordered them. “Enter Her realm, and stop Her at the source of the Infection. Any other ideas will only prolong suffering.”

The vessel saluted, clutching the Dream Nail proudly to their chest.

Seer told them everything she knew, from the origins of the Moth Tribe to the start of the Infection; they’d come so far, and as Wielder they deserved such knowledge. Towards the end of her tale, she could feel a numbness spreading throughout her limbs, and glanced down to see her form beginning to fade.

She smiled wryly. Though her tribe could and should be forgotten forever, there was now hope that history would not repeat itself. That responsibility lay upon the vessel; she hoped they would not let her and the kingdom down, for the sake of the future of Hallownest (if it would even exist after the fight).

The nail glowed so brightly, almost blinding her if she wasn’t already used to searing, vengeful Infection that tore through every bug it could. Seer tilted her head, gazing up at the beam of light that had suddenly appeared before her. It was soft and soothing, inviting her gently instead of demanding. Much closer to the Radiance she had known from so long ago.

“I...remember you,” she murmured, closing her eyes and feeling the blissful warmth on her face.

And then Seer never dreamed again.


	26. Day 26: Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghost prepares to battle the Radiance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck the Pale King, Ghost’s new Dad is Mato and no one can stop it

_Thwack._

_Thwack._

_Thwack._

The new piece of training equipment had been built earlier that morning: bags of sand tied to ropes of varying sizes that swung back and forth and around without rhyme or reason. It was more geared towards agility than brute force, something Mato was admittedly not as skilled at, but it seemed to work well for his pupil. He watched in interest as they weaved among the swinging bags, striking each one as they passed.

The little one visited much more often than they used to, spurred on by the incentive of training. And train they did, for the strikes of their nail filled the hut for several hours at a time with hardly any sort of break. Mato wished they would rest, but any of his attempts to get them to do so were in vain. 

Mato worried for them. He knew such behavior was more than a desire to become stronger; Oro had done the same thing whenever he’d been overwhelmed, refusing to let his feelings out in an easier way. Mato could see that history repeating itself now; his pupil’s stance was becoming more and more unsteady, their movements sloppier, weighed down by either exhaustion or an emotion he couldn’t yet pinpoint.

Slowly, he stood. “...Perhaps you should rest for a moment,” he spoke up cautiously. Maybe he could entice them with a nice meditation session, or a walk around the cliffs, or with a few of those brightly-colored candies they enjoyed so much.

The smaller bug jolted, turning back to face him as if just noticing he was there for the first time. The brief distraction was enough for one of the sandbags to slam into the side of their torso, sending them stumbling and falling backwards.

Mato was at their side in seconds, heart in his throat. “Gods, child, are you alright?”

They pushed themselves to their feet, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. After looking themselves over, they discovered a mild injury on their side and set to healing it. They hunched over slightly, tense in concentration as they began to tune into their Soul reserve. Mato had always been intrigued by his pupil’s use of Soul magic. He had read the plaques in King’s Pass that detailed such a practice, but he had never seen it in action until they had started visiting him regularly. He looked on with interest as the pale magic swirled and twisted in the air, preparing to heal, and then it-

...stopped.

Mato straightened, furrowing his brow.

His pupil stiffened, their eye sockets flashing with annoyance. They tried to Focus again, but the wisps of Soul that had begun to accumulate around them suddenly fizzled out before the spell could complete. They kept trying, again and again and again, until they were visibly frustrated, fists clenched so hard they shook with anger- no, not anger, it was something much more deep-seated than that.

Mato approached them, sensing trouble. “Easy, now. Slow your breaths, clear your mind-“

His pupil ignored him, continuing to try and Focus despite doing nothing but wasting their reserved Soul. They finally snapped at that point, ripping their nail off their back and hurling it across the room, where it crashed into the wall. They then dropped to the ground, crossing their arms with an shaky huff. Mato allowed his pupil to take a brief moment to cool down, not wanting to further antagonize them (another lesson learned from Oro). By the time he knelt down beside them, their expression had shifted into something much more melancholy.

“...Is there something troubling you that is blocking your Focus?” he guessed carefully.

Wordlessly, his little pupil nodded, wringing out their hands until they reached for a scroll of parchment. Mato slid it over to them, and they spent a good two minutes with the tip of their quill hovering over the paper, incredibly hesitant.

“There are no judgements here, little one,” Mato reassured as best as he could.

The small warrior sat in silence for a few more moments, then finally responded, their hand shaking horribly as they dragged the quill across the parchment. Their writing skill was limited, but it was enough to convey the short, blunt sentence that they had written, each word a painful stab in the Nailmaster’s chest.

_I’m scared._

And suddenly everything clicked.

“Oh, _child-“_ Mato swept them up into his arms before he even knew it, something instinctive and overwhelming tearing through him like a wildfire. Their tiny form shook without restraint now, and he cradled them as close as he could manage, hoping it would be enough to somehow shield them from the world.

Of course, _of course_ his child was afraid. They had every right to be, with such an impossible task laid out before them. Mato had seen the diagram they had drawn, detailing their plan that ultimately led with them facing off against the source of the Infection. To willingly fight such a wrathful higher being; he couldn’t even imagine.

“Dear child, you mustn’t hide what frightens you so,” he murmured. “It is only natural to have fear. I know that if I was in such a position, I would feel the same.”

And despite this, Mato would have still taken the little one’s place in a heartbeat if he was able to, anything to keep that enormous burden off of those too-tiny shoulders. But it was not his fight, in a realm that was not his to tread on.

His small pupil’s trembling subsided a little, though Mato did not loosen his hold in the slightest. He glanced down, immediately picking up on shame lurking in their eye sockets, and he gently gave them a squeeze. “None of that, now. Do you truly believe that I will look down on you for this?”

The tiny, almost sheepish nod against his shoulder was unmistakable and he sighed, stroking their back. “I would never do such a thing. You are afraid, yes, but you strive to overcome that which frightens you, and that is something not many bugs can claim they have accomplished. That is why I will always be proud of you, my child, no matter how afraid you are.”

He felt small hands cling to the fur of his cloak a little tighter, and he smiled.

Eventually, the trembling against his shoulder ceased entirely, and Mato felt the little warrior release his cloak from their clutches. They raised their head, scrubbing at their mask and then patting affectionately at the Nailmaster’s.

“I take it we’re feeling better, then,” Mato chuckled.

His pupil stepped back, giving themselves some space in the middle of the floor. With what little remained of their excess Soul, they bowed their head and Focused with all of their strength. Instead of vanishing halfway through the casting, the wispy white particles released with a gentle sigh, bathing them in pale light before fading from view. They hopped up and down with glee, clapping their hands.

Mayo laughed victoriously. “And there we are! Nearly a full recovery.” He reached into one of the many pockets of his cloak. “Now, I suggest we avoid combat for the rest of your visit and instead focus on things considered to be more...recreational.”

His child whipped around, nearly toppling over in their haste. The excited look in their eye flared up even more as they watched Mato pull a small bag out of his cloak and hold it up in the air like a trophy.

Mato grinned, then upturned the bag onto one of his hands, allowing several wrapped candies to spill into his palm. “I believe you have more than earned a handful of these.”


	27. Day 27: Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The palace grounds were lifeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going from Dadmaster to Daddy Issues in 1 chapter w o w z a

The massive cavern was incredibly empty, to the point where all three of their footsteps echoed back and forth without interruption. The only other noise that could be heard was the dull static of silence that droned on and on in the back of Ghost’s head, almost pressing against their mask. Hollow suddenly stepped away from the group and approached the defeated corpse of the kingsmould, taking in the cracked helmet and the Void spilling from its armor. Their hand clenched and released rhythmically in the fabric of their cloak.

Hornet spoke up awkwardly. “I warned you; this is all that is left.”

Hollow nodded, a stiff motion, but Ghost noticed in the way their shoulders drooped that they were still rather broken up about it. Hornet noticed, too, and she tilted her head up towards them. “Do you need a moment to yourself?” she offered, her voice lower than before.

Hollow glanced over at her, and though they didn’t give a direct answer, the look in their eye gave away the fact that they did indeed want some time alone to mourn. Hornet obliged, gently taking Ghost’s arm and pulling them farther away from the ruins.

From their perch atop a large stone, Ghost watched Hollow kneel in front of the crumbled archway, which almost appeared to resemble a massive gravestone in the way it was shaped. They themselves had never seen anything more than the brittle remains of the palace and the sawblade-infested version in the Dream realm, but it was clear that the ruins of the real White Palace was still of much sentimental value to their taller sibling.

Was there much to miss about it, though? Ghost’s experience with the White Palace had been full of sawblades, thorns, and an unhealthy frigidness that cut right through them. Hollow sometimes detailed how grandiose and beautiful the palace had been, but then again they had always been the kinder of the three. Ghost wondered if Hornet missed the palace sometimes too. Surely, as the King’s daughter, she had gone there on occasion and could possibly give a more...cynical perspective. They tapped Hornet’s arm, then pointed at the grave of the palace that sat lopsided before them.

Hornet only smiled bitterly. “I do not miss a thing about this wretched place. The palace was suffocating, and the King was a-“

Ghost jumped at the opportunity to finish her sentence for her, quickly raising their hands to sign. _“Bastard.”_

Hornet gave them a sharp look. “From where did you learn that word?”

Ghost blanched, shrugging as innocently as they could manage. Hornet would certainly have Tiso’s head mounted on a wall if she found out he’d been the one to teach them curses.

Fortunately, Hornet didn’t press the matter, instead turning back to stare at Hollow. “I suppose you’re correct, though. He was, by all means, a bastard. But, I recommend not saying such a thing to Hollow,” she warned as an afterthought. “They do hold some affection for him still, and I would not want to upset them.”

Ghost still had no idea how Hollow, bless them, showed absolutely no anger towards the Pale King for what he’d done. Ghost was mad themselves, and they hadn’t even been the one chained in a Temple for years on end as a result of their creator’s choices. They hadn’t even wanted to come near the palace’s impromptu grave, in all honesty, but Hollow had wanted support and they much preferred helping their sibling as they gained some sort of closure than staying by themselves in Dirtmouth.

Frowning, Ghost reached into the pocket of their cloak and pulled out a king’s idol that they had forgotten to sell. They waggled it in Hornet’s face, and then used it to point at Hollow. Maybe they were missing something.

It took a moment for Hornet to understand what they were asking, and there was a pause as she shifted in place, averting her gaze. “The King was not...unkind, and he adored Hollow, but for the wrong reasons. He believed they were the perfect vessel, despite several instances in which it was proven they were not, and he refused to accept such facts when they were presented to him. In the end, he went through with his plan anyway, and when such an idiotic decision backfired, he fled Hallownest in cowardice.”

Ghost felt anger begin to bubble in their chest. _“Bastard,”_ they signed again, with even more emphasis.

Hornet let out a tiny laugh. “Indeed. But Hollow forgives him, even after such mistreatment, and we mustn’t let our personal feelings negate that.”

Ghost held up the idol again, this time gesturing to Hornet. 

“Oh.” Hornet shifted her arms underneath her cloak, making it flutter slightly. Something cold and almost vulnerable flashed by the eyeholes of her mask. “I received not harsh words or fists in my youth, but instead blatant indifference, so I gave it in return. But he has stolen too much from all of us for me to be indifferent now. I will not ever forgive him.”

Ghost nodded solemnly, leaning over to pat her arm. They couldn’t bring themselves to fault Hollow for their willingness to forgive, so they most certainly couldn’t fault Hornet for her lack of doing so.

“I suppose your language usage properly conveys your feelings on the matter,” Hornet suddenly piped up, shaking herself off as if to rid herself of thoughts of the King. In response, Ghost signed out their favorite Pale-King-associated word for the third time, making her roll her eyes in mock annoyance.

After a few more minutes, Hollow rose unsteadily to their feet and slowly made their way back to their siblings. They sloppily wiped their eyes with the back of their hand, but remarkably they seemed a little less troubled than when they had arrived.

“I trust it went well, then?” Hornet observed.

Hollow inclined their head, gently bumping against the masks of their siblings to convey gratitude. Ghost craned their neck to return the gesture. Regardless of Hollow’s stance on the King, Ghost was still more than ready to offer support, especially if they were still grieving.

The Pale King was still a bastard, though, they thought to themselves as the three of them made their way from the neglected graveyard the palace had become to the stag station.


	28. Day 28: Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hollow Knight couldn’t live up to their name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry precious child but it has to be done
> 
> Warning for self-hatred and suicidal thoughts, stay safe guys

The sawblades whirred and buzzed around every corner, loud and grating. They ignored the sound, flying past the saws and landing neatly on the platform below. Without wasting so much as a second of hesitation, they took off running towards the next part of the course.

The spikes snapped in and out of view with a series of clanging noises. Without missing a beat, they bounced off of the first set with their nail and used the momentum to drive them forward, over the endless pit of thorns underneath them. They continued to volley off of the spikes, weaving around buzzsaws in the process, and finally dropped down into the final room of the course, unscathed.

Father was waiting for them at the end. He strode towards them, robes fluttering about him as he walked, his pale glow stronger than usual. Their head followed him on a swivel as they waited for him to approach.

“Well done, my vessel,” he purred, and he gently rested a hand on their head, directly between their horns. The touch was warm, sending a wave of something unfamiliar yet pleasant throughout their mask. For some odd reason, they had to physically brace themselves to not react to it. That hadn’t happened before.

“Come, let us return to your mother.” Father regarded them with an expression they had never seen before. It was almost...bright? They couldn’t describe it, but the way his eyes shone as he looked at them was...

Something stirred in their chest, surprisingly nice-feeling, and then faded as quickly as it had come, leaving emptiness in its wake.

—

Their sister clawed and tugged at their cape, trying to get their attention. According to her high-pitched squeaking, she wanted to play, but they weren’t supposed to play with her. Father had given them orders to stand guard by their sister’s bedroom door. Nothing else. 

Ignoring her was proving to be a challenge in itself, however. She was very insistent; when they continued to stand in place, she interpreted it as an invitation to latch onto their armor and climb all over them. And of course, they were not given an order to resist, so they had no choice but to remain still and let it unfold.

Their sister reached their mask and poked it, once again trying to distract them from their duties. For a reason they couldn’t pinpoint, it was getting rather difficult to not respond to her. 

Would it really be so against their orders to give her attention? They knew not many bugs in the palace did, especially when her mother was absent. They had heard from their Mother that younger bugs flourished when given affection; surely it would be useful, and being useful was what they strived to be.

But Father hadn’t told them to. Father hadn’t-

They felt the poking slowly come to a stop, and their sister dropped from their shoulder to the floor. She stepped away from them, and the defeated sigh she emitted tore right through their defenses, yanking at their Void until it almost seemed to throb. Their body suddenly moved without them meaning for it to, and they reached out for her retreating figure.

They placed their hand on her head and patted it, gently of course. Just for a few seconds. It wouldn’t hurt anything, it wouldn’t cause harm. They would go right back to their orders afterward; it wasn’t as if they weren’t guarding the door at all while they did this-

Their sister peeped in delight, leaning so far into their touch that she nearly toppled over in the process. Her tiny fingers latched onto their hand to keep it in place as she nuzzled, purring loudly.

And in that moment, they felt that warm, fuzzy feeling return with a vengeance, and they almost wanted to melt into a puddle of Void right then and there. They had made their sister happy, just like how they had made Father happy, and it was the most incredible feeling in the world.

—

They were panicking.

It was an awful, awful feeling, as if the entire world was suddenly crumbling around them, and the fact that they knew they _weren't supposed to be doing it_ made it even worse. It was a _very_ impure thing to do, but they couldn’t have physically stopped themselves if they’d tried, just like how they couldn’t physically stop themselves from feeling happy or sad or proud or frustrated or scared or-

Gods, they weren’t empty. They weren’t hollow. They were wrong. They were so, so incredibly _wrong_ that it hurt. How despicable of them, to hold the title of Hollow Knight and be such a horrifically flawed vessel. 

What would Father say? What would Father _do?_ He would most certainly dispose of them; they’d seen what he had done to their hundreds of siblings, tossing them back into the clutches of the Abyss without a care. Would he throw them back too? Or would he deem them not even worth the effort and kill them himself instead?

They didn’t want to be thrown away. It was such a selfish thought- they _knew_ they deserved it- but the mere thought made them want to cry like a newborn grub. Gods, they didn’t want to be thrown away. They loved their mother and father and sister and all of the Great Knights and all of the servants and _they didn’t want to leave them._

Maybe not all hope was lost, they thought to themselves out of pure desperation. Maybe they could learn to be empty by the time of their Sealing. Then Father wouldn’t have to know about this shameful display of weakness. Then Father wouldn’t have a reason to be disappointed in them.

Fingers gripping the table until it creaked, they put as much effort as they could into stuffing down their panic. It worked, somewhat, and they Focused what little remained of their energy into clearing their mind of the raging hurricane their thoughts had become.

_Do not think. Do not feel. Do not think. Do not feel. Do not..._

—

The chains were taut and cold around their massive form, snagging occasionally on the carvings of their armor. They had to steel themselves to keep the rattling of metal at bay as they trembled.

Father was scanning the Temple, making the final preparations. His glow was the only thing lighting up the room, besides the occasional glimmer of the Seals of Binding that had been cast on them and the chains. Their eyes followed him, trying to soak up as much of his pale figure as they could, knowing that this was the last time they would see him again.

“It is time,” Father announced; despite his voice being lowered, it carried easily through the still air of the Temple.

Their breaths quickened, and they forced themselves to be quiet. Fear twisted their insides, to the point where they felt physically ill, and they would have cursed themselves at such a vibrant display of feeling if they weren’t so _terrified._

Father scanned them solemnly. He looked sad and tired, not the small yet imposing figure they were familiar with. He sighed, pressing the sleeves of his robe together, and he purposefully refused to look them in the eye. “Good luck, my vessel, and farewell.”

They watched in growing horror as he turned and swiftly made his way to the entrance of the room. No, no, no, this was all wrong, they didn’t want to do this, please they didn’t want to do this _please Father don’t make me do this please don’t leave-_

But such cries would admit impurity, and that meant Father would be disappointed in them. And the last thing they ever wanted to do was fail their Father.

So they held their tongue, and watched silently as the pale glow drifted further and further out of sight, until the distinct lock of a door shut it out forever.

—

They woke up on the floor of the Temple, unbelievably, miserably alive.

They knew what they had done before they were even fully conscious. They knew they had failed in containing the Radiance. The one thing they had been expected to do, and they had failed. They hadn’t been the empty vessel that their title claimed them to be. They had corrupted themselves. How despicable of them.

There was no more Infection sprouting all over their body, but it still hurt just as much. Their chest was so horribly mangled that it felt like nothing but mush, bubbling painfully every time they tried to take a breath. Their missing arm was no better, their shoulder burning and pulsing until they felt nauseous. They remembered when it had been burnt off by the sheer power of Her rage. That was the first time of many in which they had cried in front of Her.

Something red moved into view- they couldn’t see out of their right eye anymore, they realized with a sickening jolt- and spoke, voice muffled. Another figure, smaller than the first, leaned over them as well. Were these bugs here to put them out of their misery? Gods, they hoped so.

The smaller bug reached forward, resting a tiny hand on their uninjured shoulder. It should not have hurt as much as it did, but their body jerked away despite themselves, agony wracking its way up and down until they felt lightheaded. The red-clad bug whipped around to scold their companion, their voice louder yet more distant somehow.

If they were capable of doing so, they would have begged without hesitation for these bugs to strike them down now. Everything hurt, everything hurt _so much_ and the fact that they were still alive in the first place made it all the more painful. After all they had gone through, to be forced to live with themselves and their glaring failure was a brand new level of suffering that they didn’t want to deal with. They only asked for this one mercy, and that was all. 

What little remained of their energy faded, and their vision along with it. It didn’t matter anymore. There was nothing left for them. There was no reason for them to feel, to care, to live, so they simply didn’t bother trying.

How ironic it was, for this to be the first time they’d ever felt truly empty.


	29. Day 29: Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hornet returns to Hallownest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sips teacup full of tears* So I heard y’all like found family

The winds of King’s Pass didn’t nearly reach the strength and chill of those in the Wastelands, but it was enough to seep through her cloak and into her very being. Hornet barely had the energy to shiver anymore, so she instead hunched her shoulders against the wind and continued onward, trying not to stumble on the uneven ground.

Her arm screamed in protest as she hurled her needle at the ledge above, hoisting herself up the cliff. She actually had to take a moment’s rest upon reaching the top, panting, all four of her limbs shaking uncontrollably. She knelt there until the dizziness passed, then rose unsteadily to her feet and continued. 

Hornet knew her body had well beyond reached its limit, but being right on the border of Hallownest drove all sense of self-preservation from her mind. Just a few more cliffs and she’d be _home._ She wasn’t about to rest now. She was absolutely _not_ being separated from her family a second longer than she had to be.

The climb was agonizingly slow, but eventually Hornet passed underneath the doorway that led into Hallownest. She approached the edge, and the view of Dirtmouth in all its modest glory sent a wave of a thousand different emotions crashing through. It looked the exact same as when she’d left it, from the bench in the center of town to the gaudy Grimm Troupe tents on the outskirts, and though it was fairly late in the evening, the lumafly lamps had never looked more inviting. The town was safe; she hoped her siblings were the same.

Hornet swung down into Dirtmouth, landing awkwardly as her legs threatened to buckle underneath her. Despite being on the verge of collapsing on the spot, a final burst of energy set her ablaze and she sprinted through the empty streets, making a beeline for where she knew her home was. 

The house greeted her as she rounded the corner; it was still standing, so the irrational fear that something horrible had happened in her absence thankfully melted away. Candlelight trickled through the cracks between the curtains, and-

And there they were.

Both Ghost and Hollow were sitting among the soil, tending to the patch of delicate flowers that had been planted next to the front door. Their backs were to her, and yet just that glimpse was so _achingly familiar_ that it almost made her come undone right then and there.

Hollow was the first to notice her. It took only a second for their head to shoot up in recognition, the watering can falling from their grasp with a clang against cobblestone. Wordlessly, they reached over and tugged on Ghost’s cloak to get their attention. Ghost looked back, then did a double-take, nearly toppling over in their haste to stand.

The crushing relief that they were here and healthy and _safe_ shook her to the core. She swallowed thickly, eyes stinging. “I-“

She was suddenly tackled by the force of a powerful Crystal Dash, sending her and the culprit tumbling backwards across the ground. She felt the wind nearly get knocked out of her upon landing, which probably should have stunned her, but she was too busy clinging to the tiny vessel latched around her middle as much as her frozen fingers would allow.

“Gods, Ghost-“ she cut herself off with a choked laugh, feeling as though she’d break down if she didn’t. Little Ghost’s only response was to hug her tighter, burying their mask into the folds of her tattered cloak as their shoulders quivered with sobs.

Hornet then noticed Hollow hovering motionlessly nearby, and the dozens of unleashed emotions flickering in her sibling’s eye sockets was almost too much for her to take. Stiffly, Hollow shuffled closer in unsteady, tiny steps, gaze trained on her. They stopped just in front of her, and their remaining hand shook terribly as they reached out, slowly, as if they were bracing themselves for the moment the illusion would break and she would disappear.

Their touch against her cheek was gentle, and Hornet was once again painfully reminded of how much she had missed them. “Yes, it’s me,” she confirmed, her own hand reaching up in hopes to steady theirs. The guilt of leaving them behind, even if it hadn’t been her choice, threatened to suffocate her. “I’m so sorry, to both of you, I-“

She was suddenly yanked into a tight embrace, pressed against their shoulder. Hollow trembled, practically unraveling in her grasp, and soon their legs gave out on them and they crumpled to the ground, taking both her and Ghost down with them. With her remaining hand, the other still claimed by Ghost, she gripped the back of Hollow’s cloak as they openly wept, their body jerking unevenly, their tears staining her cloak black. 

And in that moment, every single minute of nonstop, sleepless traveling had been absolutely worth it.

Eventually, three pairs of tear tracks dried and faded, and Hornet was promptly nestled into the crook of Hollow’s massive arm and ushered inside. Immediately she was swarmed again, this time by Grimmchild, who screeched and squawked in excitement upon seeing her. They were loud, very loud, but they were warm to the touch and she had admittedly missed them too, so she allowed them to curl up alongside her.

Normally Hornet would have resisted the constant smothering from her siblings, but that had been before, when she had been healthier and had no reason to have energy wasted on her. Days of no food or sleep had taken its toll, sapping her strength and willpower until she had no choice but to sit idle as they fretted. She accepted Hollow’s offering of what looked like an entire flock of roasted vengefly, tearing into it greedily, and allowed Ghost to worriedly examine her for wounds with a careful eye. The entire time, Hollow’s hold on her was like iron; she suspected they would not put her down for a long time.

With a mug of piping-hot tea in her hands and a blanket around her shoulders, Hornet told them everything. About her sudden kidnapping, her involuntary trip to the land of Pharloom, a kingdom puppeted by a cult intent on control and domination. She detailed her weeks-long fight to the top of the citadel, where she had challenged the Conductor of the cult and had barely escaped Pharloom within an inch of her life. Ghost discovered a particularly nasty injury on her leg, and she reluctantly told them about her near-enslavement close to the citadel’s peak, a plot to hold her captive as an endless producer of silk until her eventual death from exhaustion. Ghost stiffened at that, disturbed and angry, and Hollow, who Hornet had never seen act out in her life, visibly trembled with rage, Void viciously churning underneath their mask.

Pharloom had been hell to fight through, but that was then, and this was now. They were all together again, sheltered in their shared home and far away from the cruelties of that distant kingdom. Such a reassurance was just as much for her as it was for them.

The night grew darker and quieter still, and Hornet tried to focus, the instinct to keep watch for danger still lingering, but found it increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open. It seemed as though whatever driving force that had been keeping her awake and alert was fading in the presence of familiarity. Hollow appeared to have noticed, and gently laid a hand on the side of her head, using the lightest of pressures to nudge it down, until it was resting on their chest. Their mask nuzzled between her horns, and they pulled the blanket up further around her. Ghost happily invited themselves to the pile, burrowing under the blanket and pressing themselves as close to her as physically possible; meanwhile Grimmchild draped their leathery wings over the trio as much as they could, warding away the last of the bitter Wastelands chill from her shell.

Even if only for tonight, Hornet could indulge herself in the comfort being given, allowing herself to believe that nothing could hurt her here, shielded as she was by her family. Her eyes finally closed, and a rare lingering purr was drawn from her throat, only fading when she embraced the release of rest.

And when she slept well into the afternoon of the next day, not a single member of her family minded in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhhhh super sorry this was late, I was sleep-deprived as f u c k last night and I mistakenly thought I already posted this gjskvkskgksv T-T But hopefully I can get the next one up by the usual time UwU


	30. Day 30: End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny gremlin child rekts angy bug god

Ghost could only recall bits and pieces of their battle with the Radiance. The most prominent was the Light, searing and scorching, practically swallowing them whole when it had first appeared. From the center of it all, Her wings had unfurled, the points of Her crown gleaming, Her eyes glaring with an unmatched intensity.

They remembered their hands shaking as they gripped their nail, frantically dodging ethereal swords and beams of Light thrown their way. Ghost had been terrified of just Her presence itself, let alone the looming fear of being defeated and dooming Hallownest forever. They had almost scolded themselves for such weakness, but it was okay, it was okay to be afraid. They could do this. They had to do this.

They remembered the pitch black of the Void as it swirled and churned around them. The Radiance had thrashed wildly, screeching, as coils of darkness snaked around her wings and attempted to pull her down into their clutches. Ghost faintly recalled their own body being engulfed by the Void, their mask threatening to split in two as tendrils burst free from their back, lashing about angrily.

They remembered the pure satisfaction they had felt as they landed blow after blow on the Radiance, ripping clumps of feathers away with each strike. In that moment, the desire for vengeance had briefly consumed them. She had stripped the life from Hallownest until there was nothing left, then tried to twist the minds of their remaining friends and family in every which way until they succumbed to Her Infection. Ghost had wanted nothing more than for Her to feel even a fraction of the pain She had put them all through, and so their assault had continued with zeal.

Then there had been a final burst of Light, an earth-shattering roar, and darkness had engulfed the entire dream. 

They had been drifting among nothing for a long time now. Ghost wondered if they were dead, or about to be. It would have been quite a peaceful death if they weren’t so worried. They knew Hornet wouldn’t survive being touched by the Void for very long, and the Hollow Knight had suffered a lot of serious injuries after they’d...

They suddenly jolted awake, as if a rope had been fastened around their torso and had violently yanked them backwards, feeling strangely cold despite being made of Void already. It was still dark, but this time there was also the faint glow of a nearby lantern. The small light was enough to cause some of the darkness to fade away, and- no, it wasn't fading, it was dripping down the walls as if it was wet paint on a canvas.

Ghost watched in awe as the Void almost seemed to pull into itself, snaking away from the walls and towards the center of the floor. As it sunk lower, the various carvings of three masks above the entrances revealed themselves. They were back in the Temple; with a rush of panic, they scrambled to their feet to re-enter the Black Egg, but found that it was nowhere to be seen. Where had it gone? Had it been destroyed while they had fought the Radiance? 

As the last bits of Void seeped through the floor of the Temple, something- two things, actually- poked out above the darkness, sharp and pale: the masks of their siblings. Ghost sighed in relief, but it quickly reverted to horror upon realizing that they were both sprawled unceremoniously on the ground, neither of them moving.

Oh no.

As quickly as their unsteady legs allowed, Ghost vaulted forward and scrambled towards their siblings. They reached Hornet first, and they immediately grabbed her shoulder and shook her roughly, hoping that would be enough to wake her. But Hornet remained motionless, her carapace stiff and deathly cold to the touch.

Fear truly starting to settle in now, Ghost crawled over and attempted to wake the Hollow Knight, gently prodding at their uninjured shoulder. If the taller vessel had felt the contact then they gave no indication of the sort, remaining as lifeless as Hornet.

Ghost frantically darted back and forth between their siblings, their attempts to rouse either of them growing more desperate by the minute, and despite having just slain a _higher being_ a few moments ago, they had never felt more helpless. What were they supposed to do? Outside of their Soul magic, they had no experience in healing or medicine at all. Should they get help? Or was it already too late?

Ghost shook their head frantically, attempting to dispel such a morbid thought, but it continued to linger, swelling and prodding at their conscience until they felt panic start to seep in. No no no no no, this couldn’t be how it ended, they didn’t go through all of that just for their family to die, they just had to keep trying, but what they were trying wasn’t working and they didn’t know what to _do-_

Hornet suddenly sprang to life before them, sucking in a massive breath like she solely depended on it. She barely managed to sit up before Ghost had flung their arms around her in pure relief, clinging to her as tightly as they could in their shaken state. _Thank the Gods._

“Wh- how-“ Hornet coughed, too disoriented to free herself from her sibling’s grasp as her head snapped back and forth in confusion. “What happened?”

Ghost hoped their rapid arm-tapping was enough to convey such news; they didn’t quite feel like letting go yet.

Sadly, Hornet had other plans, and pulled herself free from their clutches to stare at them. “What does this mean? Did you strike Her down?”

Ghost nodded their head frantically. They had to have killed Her; She’d been dragged away by the Void itself, and that had to have been enough to drain even Her energy until Her demise.

Hornet’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

They nodded again, bouncing in excitement.

Hornet leaned back on her haunches, stunned by this new information. She almost looked relieved, but then something dark flashed behind her mask. “And what has become of our sibling?”

And just like that, Ghost’s excitement melted away in an instant. They slowly raised an arm and pointed off to the side, where the Hollow Knight still lay motionless.

They helped Hornet stand and led her over to their sibling, where she examined their injuries with a grave look on her face. “If they are not dead already, they will be soon,” she reported bluntly, making Ghost’s insides churn. She glanced up at them. “Does a vessel have vitals to evaluate?”

Unsure as to what that meant, Ghost leaned over to experimentally pat the Hollow Knight’s intact shoulder. They nearly jumped out of their shell as their sibling suddenly convulsed in response, flinching away from them as pain wracked their thin form.

“Ghost!” Hornet snapped, hackles raised, though she soon appeared to regret sounding so harsh. “...Apologies. Keep watch while I tend to them, if you would.”

Hornet pulled out a pouch of some type of salve and a roll of bandages from the folds of her cloak and set to work. Ghost tried to remain loyally by the Hollow Knight’s side, but it was quickly becoming difficult to stomach the sheer extent of their injuries. The final straw was when their sibling spasmed under Hornet’s gentle touch, spilled Void gurgling in the back of their throat, and they quickly left the scene to stand guard at the mouth of the Temple.

What greeted Ghost was not the pulsing orange of ripe Infection, but instead deflated puddles of brown goo, almost mudlike in color and consistency. The nauseating smell of sickness had completely dissipated, leaving only the earthy smell of the Crossroads behind.

They really _had_ done it.

Ghost could only hope now that everyone was alright. They had holed up as many of their friends as they could in Dirtmouth to keep them safe, with the exceptions of the Nailmasters, who had all deemed themselves sheltered enough in their secluded corners of Hallownest already, and Tiso, who was currently staying with the Snail Shaman while he recovered. Those in Dirtmouth had thankfully heeded to their warnings, but Ghost couldn’t help but worry that some of the collateral damage had made its way up the well.

The Crossroads had never been this quiet. Even during the Infection, the sounds of husks stumbling about had always been audible in the distance. Now the air was deathly still, like the Abyss had been. It didn’t alleviate the fears that everyone had perished in the aftermath.

The faint sound of footsteps snapped Ghost out of their spiraling thought. They weren’t alone, they remembered with a breath of relief. Hornet was alive, and with luck so was the Hollow Knight and all of their friends.

“I fear moving them will aggravate their wounds, so we ought to shelter here for some time,” Hornet announced as she sidled up to them. The bandages were still in her hand, and she unrolled a section. “You’re injured as well, hold still.”

They were? Ghost felt for their mask, startling slightly upon grazing a large crack right down the middle. They hadn’t even realized.

Hornet quickly covered the fracture, wrapping it tightly in bandages and strands of her silk. When she finished, she straightened up and gazed around the cavern, gawking at the distinct lack of orange.

“It really is over, then,” she murmured in awe. When Ghost nodded, she let out a soft, breathy laugh of disbelief. It was the first time they’d ever heard her laugh, they realized, and they hoped she would do it more often now.

After a moment, Hornet suddenly snapped back to attention, resuming her tireless nature. “Right, we should prepare to stay here for the night. Stay here and watch Hollow, and I’ll fetch us bedding and something to eat. You do eat, correct?”

Ghost nodded enthusiastically.

“Noted.” Hornet regarded them softly, and Ghost felt warm at the subtle note of affection in her voice. “Rest well, little Ghost. You’ve beyond earned it.”

As soon as she departed, Ghost stumbled back into the Temple and plopped down beside their sibling, leaning against their mostly uninjured side. The fight had left them drained more than they cared to admit, but it was over. The Infection was finally over. The Radiance was gone, and never again would She harm a single bug in Hallownest. At long last, the looming fear of everything they’d come to care for suddenly being taken away from them had come to an end, and none too soon.

Even if only for a moment, it truly felt as if everything would be okay.


	31. Day 31: Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirtmouth was considered the Fading Town of Hallownest. Ghost had plans to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google Docs crashed three times while writing this
> 
> I guess you could say it was
> 
> _...bugged_
> 
> I’m sorry

There hadn’t really been a direct reason for the celebration. Ghost had happened to gain the idea from a translated wanderer’s journal, fresh from Lemm’s shop. This particular volume had detailed some of the acclaimed “parties” the Pale Court had thrown in Hallownest’s prime: mainly celebrations over the changing of seasons or dates of birth, among other obscure reasons. According to the journal, “parties” were mainly a time for bugs to spend time together recreationally through banquets, dancing, gift-giving, and other traditions. It had sounded oddly appealing.

Ghost had shown the journal to Hollow out of curiosity, as they’d had the most experience with palace life. Hollow had confirmed that they knew about the celebrations, but only the concept. They had never been allowed to actually partake in such gatherings, instead told to stand guard by the door and monitor who entered and left the ballroom.

It was then when Ghost had decided that they would organize a better “party” than that bastard king ever could.

They relayed the idea to Hornet almost immediately. She seemed surprised at the suggestion of a party but did end up agreeing to it, although she told them shortly after that she would most likely stay out of their way.

“I can gather food, but for minor details I would be more of a hindrance than anything,” she said. “The idea is nice, however. A decent boost of morale is needed as of late.”

It was true. Though the Infection had ended quite some time ago, it was still difficult for the citizens of Dirtmouth to properly relax. The plague disappearing overnight had seemed too good to be true, leaving many of them paranoid at the thought of it returning with a vengeance. Bugs left their houses more often nowadays, but very rarely did anyone other than Hornet- and occasionally Tiso- make the trip down the well.

But hopefully the celebration would change all of that. According to the journal, parties were meant to spread good cheer and well wishes to the bugs that attended. With enough effort, perhaps the town would not feel as faded and tense by the end of the night.

Now that they had full reign of the planning, Ghost headed for their first of many destinations.

—

“A celebration, you say.” Grimm bowed at the waist, examining the somewhat juvenile handwriting on the parchment that explained Ghost’s elaborate plan. “For what purpose?”

Ghost tapped the cluster of smiling faces in the center of their paper.

Grimm barked out a raspy laugh. “Fair enough! We shall gladly assist, young one; this dreary town was due for some excitement. What is it that you need?”

Ghost spread their arms out wide. From what they’d gathered from the journal, they needed a lot of things, and they’d hoped that the Troupe, with all of their experience in the world, would be able to fulfill at least a few of those requirements.

“I see.” Grimm took the paper and read it over again. “Tomorrow evening, then? I suppose that will be enough time to assemble a proper...atmosphere.” His scarlet eyes glittered devilishly. “What is your opinion on fire, dear friend?”

Ghost gave him a thumbs-up.

“Excellent,” Grimm purred.

Half an hour later, Ghost and Grimmchild were sprawled out on the kitchen floor, surrounded by scattered piles of paper and art supplies. A small stack of invitations rested between them, some still a little damp with glue. Though Ghost could have easily gone and informed those of Dirtmouth in-person, it was much more fun to personalize little cards for each bug. They’d been wanting to test out the supplies Sheo had gifted them, anyway.

Once their project was completed, Ghost handed most of the invitations off to Hollow with instructions to pass them out to everyone in town. Their larger sibling seemed _thrilled_ at the opportunity to help and raced off in an instant, leaving Ghost to head for the stag station with the remaining cards in tow.

The air was buzzing with excitement by the time Ghost returned to Dirtmouth. Hollow had already finished distributing the invitations, and the sudden emergence of a party had left many bugs curious and intrigued enough to investigate.

“What a splendid idea, my friend!” Quirrel praised from his spot on the bench. His invitation was in his hands, and he held it as if it were the most precious artifact in the world. “I will most certainly attend; it has been an age since I’ve last partaken in a festival.”

Ghost was brimming with pride as more bugs approached to express their enthusiasm. Elderbug was misty-eyed, gushing about how nice it was to have positivity in the air again. Tiso was much more unwilling to voice his interest, claiming he was only attending out of boredom, but Ghost noticed the invitation peeking out of his hood. Cornifer and Iselda were thrilled, meanwhile, and offered to bring food to share, not wanting Hornet to take on the burden of feeding everyone by herself.

Speaking of food...

“A party!” Myla chirped in delight, popping her head up over the countertop. Patches of flour were smeared all over her apron. “I couldn’t b-believe it when Hollow gave me the invitation!” She zipped around the kitchen tirelessly, alternating between measuring, frosting, and admiring the little paper card propped up on the table.

“She’s been like this since I got here,” Cloth remarked, clapping a hand on Ghost’s shoulder and chuckling as they struggled to keep up with the miner’s antics. “She is very excited, to say the least.”

Myla’s gaze snapped up from her bowl as she suddenly gasped in realization. “Will there be dancing? I’ve n-never danced with a group before! Oh, how exciting!” She searched the countertops for something, then appeared to realize that said ingredient was out of reach and looked around for the stepstool.

Cloth grabbed the little bug’s waist and lifted her so that she could easily reach the cabinet. To Ghost, she smiled warmly. “I eagerly await tomorrow myself! I haven’t been to any sort of party since I was very young.”

Ghost nodded and promptly ran off to find Hollow, elated to share how popular the party was becoming.

—

By sunset of the next day, the center of town was full of color and bright lights. Rows of lanterns were strung between the lampposts; they were primarily red, as expected from the Troupe, but several other colors had also been included (with a distinct lack of orange, thankfully). Out in the open was a massive bonfire, the scarlet-tinted flames reaching far into the darkening sky. A circle of benches was positioned around it, less intricate than the original Dirtmouth bench but appealing all the same.

“It would be much taller,” Grimm remarked as he watched the flames lash about, “but the elderly gentlebug warned me that it would become a hazard. A necessary precaution, although quite a boring one.”

While Brumm lugged a collection of instruments into the town square, the citizens heard the commotion and started to gather. Ghost bounced in excitement, watching them all come out of their homes and place food and gifts on the banquet tables. Everyone in town had shown up! (They had not wanted to ask Zote originally, but Hollow, bless their heart, had greatly disliked the idea of intentionally excluding anyone.)

“I can’t believe you invited me,” Bretta whispered to them, worrying her antennae nervously. “No one’s done that before.”

Ghost hugged her arm, hoping to be comforting. They hoped she would have fun alongside the others; she’d always been reluctant to come out of her shell.

The entire front face of the stag station had been removed earlier, and the massive beetle now crawled out to both join the celebration and drop off his passengers. Ogrim descended from the carriage, flocked by Sheo and the Nailsmith; the three were chatting enthusiastically among themselves, laughing on occasion. Meanwhile, Mato had scooped up Ghost into a hug and was squeezing them affectionately with a “How wonderful it is to celebrate with you, my child!” After a few moments, he gently put them down and moved on to embrace Hollow, who gladly returned the gesture, and Hornet, who was more reluctant but accepted it regardless.

Sly emerged from his shop a few moments later, and both present Nailmasters raced to greet him. Ghost watched the three converse warmly, although they briefly lamented the absence of Oro, who had unfortunately declined Ghost’s invitation. Ghost decided they would be more insistent next time.

Hornet slunk off to gather food after that, insisting she would be fine doing it by herself when stopped by Hollow; Ghost was a little sad that their sister would miss some of the festivities, but they knew she didn’t like crowds much and left it alone. After she hopped down the well, Grimm appeared in a burst of scarlet fire to welcome everyone to the venue. A few, particularly Elderbug, seemed slightly apprehensive towards his involvement, but it was forgiven once the music began and the crowd dispersed.

The atmosphere was built gradually, but not awkwardly. Ghost flitted between groups, watching in delight as bugs warmed up to each other. Cornifer and Iselda were already dancing, pressed snug against each other as they swayed and giggled to themselves, in their own world. The majority of Dirtmouth’s citizens were grouped together near the bonfire, energetically listening to the stag as he went on about his prime days as a runner of the tunnels (Quirrel in particular was very fascinated). One of the exceptions was Sly, who was joined by his students, the Nailsmith, and Ogrim off to the side. Even Zote was making an effort to be less obnoxious, having an occasional brief conversation with Tiso as they both lurked in the background.

Satisfied, Ghost reverted their attention to the banquet table, which already contained a decent supply of finger foods. They snatched a few pastries with impressive speed and ducked underneath the table, internally laughing mischievously. Unfortunately, their thievery had been discovered by Hollow, and they offered a treat in bribery when their taller sibling peeled back the tablecloth to stare at them.

Once Brumm had switched to something more lively, Quirrel taught Ghost an upbeat folk dance from his younger days (it was a miracle he’d remembered it at all, not that anyone was complaining). Ghost learned quickly, and soon the two were stepping and spinning around each other with considerable practice. It was enough of a performance, in fact, to draw in a crowd of guests that began to clap along to the music as it swelled with intensity.

“You are a wonderful dance partner, little one!” Quirrel exclaimed once they took a break, slightly breathless. “Despite my age, this is quite exhilarating!”

Ghost agreed wholeheartedly, their wings fluttering under their cloak as they hopped. They’d never danced before, and what an exciting new thing it was! Eager to spread the cheer, they scampered over to grab the two closest bugs, Hollow and Bretta in this case, and drag them out into the open. Hollow appeared nervous at first, but a reassuring pat on the hand was enough to ease them.

With Quirrel and Ghost leading by example, soon the entire square was filled with cheering and stomping of feet. Ghost weaved among various dance partners as they maneuvered up and down the cobblestone, silently laughing as Hollow met up with them and easily twirled them around with only two fingers. They felt as though they could dance for hours without getting tired.

Tiso was watching the ensemble from a distance, and rolled his eyes when Ghost motioned for him to join in. “I’m only here because the Colosseum is closed tonight,” he sneered, unimpressed. “I’ll have no part in your childish games.”

“Oh, yes you will.” Cloth suddenly snuck up behind him and, with her elbow, roughly shoved him within range of the dancing. She laughed to the point of wheezing as Tiso was tugged into the formation by Quirrel while firing every curse he knew in her direction.

At one point during a song, Hornet returned laden with prey and edible plants from hunting, and immediately Ghost honed in on her. They grabbed her arm and attempted to pull her into the dance, and soon Hollow approached and joined their efforts. Hornet easily resisted Ghost’s pleading stare, but ultimately cracked once the tallest of the trio crouched down to her level and did the same, gazing at her innocently.

 _“One_ song,” she stated firmly, but she was laughing as her siblings dragged her into the fray. She ended up sticking around for three.

The smell of cooking meat and vegetables was what eventually stopped the dancing. Everyone piled their plates high and (after moving the benches so that the stag could eat with them) sat around the fire. Grimm lowered the flames for purposes of the atmosphere, accepting a plate from Ghost shortly afterward.

They laughed and ate and drank for hours. Ghost happily snuggled in-between their siblings and listened to the ongoing conversation as it jumped back and forth across the fire: tales of glory from the battle-hardened, recitals of history from the more scholarly, whimsical short stories from the younger bugs. At one point, Ogrim referenced an old Hallownest tune from his days as a Great Knight; Myla immediately picked up on the chorus, and soon every bug that knew the song was wholeheartedly singing with her, including Hornet and Hollow (they could only bob their head back and forth rhythmically, but it counted).

Ghost sighed in contentment, watching the fire sway and flicker as they listened idly to the chatter around them. How wonderful it was to have everyone in the same place with no real reason to it. There was no horrific tragedy to unite them, only the simple joy of being together.

Once a dreary settlement, empty of life and even emptier of hope, Dirtmouth now rang with music and laughter that would echo long after the decorations had been cleared away. In that moment, the Infection was forgotten, instead replaced by hopeful feelings of the present. And at last, the tired, fearful spirits of the remaining citizens of Hallownest were reborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it boiiis!!! All prompts done, now it’s time to c o l l a p s e
> 
> Vkskfksvjksv in all seriousness thank you guys so much for reading and sticking with this fic and its horrendous update schedule, I’m glad y’all have enjoyed it! <333 Who knows, maybe I’ll write something else HK-related, we’ll just have to see uwuwuwu
> 
> Hope y’all had a great Halloween and have an awesome day <33333


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